#he hears the same song he forgot from his childhood and he suddenly remembers that week

[sqlmn]

Happy 2023 have OCs from a plot that is older than a decade. None of these are the main characters lmao.

Ladd Moore (the main focus here) is an ass. Like just that’s his main trait. He’s outgoing and rude and a bit dense but incredibly good with technology. He’s in the field department of the Supernatural Bureau of Investigation (SBI) and sometimes when at HQ, research grabs hold of him to help with some tech. Only thing is, that’s between research leads and him. No one else in fieldwork thinks Ladd should touch a computer and most research staff think he’s annoying and stupid. So when he volunteers to fix something no one thinks he’s serious and they call research up and they go down and see Ladd watching them and just have to say “you didn’t want to help out the field division?” And he’s like “they told me no”.

His older sister, Lass, is also in the field department’s staff. Madison (Mads) is in research.

The siblings actually have a pretty traumatic childhood which is why Ladd follows his sister to this career. She thinks he’s being annoying but he wants to protect her since he blames himself for ruining her childhood… while she’s scared that it’s her fault for ruining his. So they don’t have the most peaceful relationship and it’s tense between them at times.

[mik0rin]

are we still friends? status: pending…

kuroo tetsuro x black fem reader genre: college au, angst w/ happy ending, childhood best friends to strangers to best friends to lovers, smut (eventual) warnings: cussing, really bad case of pride word count: 2,453

m.list next -> a/n: if you listen to beach song by leonie biney it fits so well taglist open sign up -> here

A familiar ringtone pierces through the silence of your bedroom and you roll over with a groan, your hand fumbles across your nightstand as you look for the device. Once you find it, you answer it without checking and sit up. 

Sleep fogs your brain and coats your voice, “Hello?” 

“Hey.” 

The person on the other end resonates with a part of your heart that hasn’t been active for a while. And as the sleep starts to fade away, your brain finally connects the ringtone and the voice. 

“Tetsuro?” You can hear his breath hitch and faint noise coming from his TV, but you’re still confused. It’s 2 a.m. and it’s been two years since you last had a full conversation with him. 

“Hey,” He repeats.

You don’t respond and he doesn’t say anything else. The silence is awkward with a twinge of former comfortability. 

It never used to be like this. The silence was never uncomfortable and your phone calls were full of energy that comes from friendships with the strongest bonds. But now it seems like everything has fizzled out and you’re only left with fading memories. 

What happened to the two of you? 

The easiest and least painful answer is to blame it on college (especially since you don’t go to the same one)  on a new and challenging environment. And it’s natural for friends to drift apart in this stage of life but it’s something you thought you two were immune to, and why wouldn’t you be? Your friendship was eight years in the making at the time, and you understood one another on a level that was otherworldly. But no one is immune to time; it’s the cruelest element of life because it's the only thing you always lose and never gain back. 

And the more painful answer, the one the two of you didn’t want to address because it means facing your pride and those haunting thoughts in the back of your mind. During the height of the tensions between the two of you; the missed calls and canceled hangouts, both of your emotions that could easily be simplified into stress and the need to see your best friend, came out in a way that was angry and hurtful. 

You barely remember what you said to each other but you remember that it was mean and nasty, nothing like the tender or playful way you usually spoke to each other. And when you hung up neither of you said anything to each other, you were waiting for the other to concede. That stretched into days, weeks, months of not talking, and then suddenly it seemed shameful to even say anything at all. 

So you didn’t.

And now here you are. 

You shift the phone to your other ear, pushing those memories out of your mind, and break the silence with a soft, “What’s up?”

Kuroo lets out a nervous laugh, “Happy 10th friendversary.” 

You let out a quiet laugh, somewhere between disbelief and shame. 

You forgot. 

“I haven’t heard that in a minute.” 

“Yea, it’s been a while hasn't it?” 

You chuckle awkwardly, unsure of what to say next, and as you think about what your conversations used to sound like, your mind is suddenly flooded with memories of what you used to do every year on this eventful day. 

“I wonder if that older lady who worked at the ice cream shop is still there?” 

“She always gave me a hard time, always telling me that a man is responsible for paying for things.” Kuroo huffs, even though he always paid for you. 

“Remember when she flung a cone at you because you forgot your wallet that one year?” You laugh, the memory replaying in your head. 

“Bro, I was so pissed! I was picking crushed waffle crumbs out of my hair at the arcade.” 

Tears well up in your eyes, your stomach clenching at your attempt at keeping your giggles silent, “And that random mom thought you had lice!” 

“She didn’t think I had lice. You fake screamed ‘LICE’ and started to back away from me.” 

You feign innocence, but that teasing tone is still evident in your words. “Are you sure? I don’t remember that.”

Tetsuro rolls his eyes, not caring that you can’t see him. “I wonder how you conveniently never remember anything… it’s like that huge head of yours is going to waste.” 

You sputter, “Hey! Don’t start. My head is normal-sized, thank you very much. Which cannot be said about those flippers you have for feet.”

Kuroo gasps and a giggle leaves your lip at his dramatics. 

He’s always like this. 

“That only means my di-”

You interrupt him immediately, “Ew, Tetsu! How many times have I told you I don’t need that image in my head?” 

He chuckles, and you can practically envision the smirk that paints his face right now. “Probably as many times as girls have told me that I’m the best they ever had.” 

“Okay, so never.” 

“You suck.”

“And-” 

“Do not put that disgusting image in my head, Y/N.” 

The two of you bust out into a fit of laughter, the previous awkwardness gone like it was never there in the first place. But, something lingers in the back of your mind; there has to be a reason for him to call, especially at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday night. 

You let your laugh fade out before getting a bit serious, “Are you gonna tell me what's wrong? And before you say ‘nothing,’ I know you, so don’t even think of lying.” 

Do you really know him anymore? 

You’re running off knowledge and emotions from a time when you were inseparable. You have no clue what he’s like now, and you want to hope he’s the same Tetsu who taunts and teases you like no tomorrow but two years is a long time. And it provides a lot of room for change. 

Your friendship is a prime example of that. 

However, Kuroo is unwavering when it comes to certain things and he does the same shaky sigh whenever he’s emotional. 

“I’m just worried.” 

“Worried about what? Volleyball?” 

“I quit volleyball.” He mutters and you almost fall out of your bed. 

“You what?!?” You scream but quickly quiet down, praying you didn’t wake up your roommate down the hall. 

He shrugs his shoulders, “It’s not a big deal, I wasn’t feeling it anymore.” 

You shake your head violently, if there was one thing that boy loved besides his family and friends, it was that damn sport. 

“Oh, that’s bullshit. Did you get hurt?”

There’s genuine concern in your voice and Kuroo feels pathetic, how does he tell you the real reason he quit? 

His voice is so small and it borders the line of broken “No.” 

“Then what is it, Tetsuu? I know you didn’t want to go pro but you always said you wanted to play until you graduate college.”

You’re met with no verbal answer, only something that sounds like a sniffle that comes right before the tears. And your heart breaks- no, it shatters like fine china and you wish you could wrap your arms around him. 

“You don’t have to answer, you know?”

Your words are the perfect mix of soft, sweet, and understanding; and Kuroo missed this so much. 

He misses you. 

And he wants to answer, he really does. 

Tetsuro wants to tell you that he began to feel this overwhelming loneliness; that regardless of the bonds he created with his teammates it wasn’t the same. All his wins didn’t feel like how they used to, and his losses only hurt so much more. Kuroo knew the reason why he felt so empty: his heart had developed a void that only one person could fill. 

“If it isn’t volleyball, then what is it? A girlfriend?” You tease, trying to lighten the mood.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” 

“Not surprised.”

Kuroo lets out a very offended, “Hey!” 

You ignore him even though you want to laugh oh so badly. 

“Seriously, what's going on?” 

“We’re still friends, right?” 

The question erases every single word from your vocabulary and your heart sinks. You want to say always, you want to make some joke about how he knows too much and he’s stuck with you. 

But, can you?

Even if you guys fell into familiar comfortability, it doesn’t deny there’s tension and unspoken grievances between the two of you.

“I hope so.” You whisper, tears pricking your eyes. 

Tetsuro recognizes that whisper, he knows it’s how you keep your voice from wavering when tears threaten to fall. And he realizes that he isn’t the only one harboring this fear, that regardless of the almost no contact for the last two years; you still thought about him in the same way he thought about you. 

“Me too.” 

Kuroo feels his throat tighten. 

Why is this so hard? 

If you both want to be friends again, you could do just that. But, it’s not so simple and he knows it. Your friendship has always been this precious thing and now it seems like the most important parts are broken. 

Silence blankets the call and you stare up at your bedroom ceiling. It hits the two of you like the first harsh wind of autumn. How can people go from talking like time doesn’t exist, to two years of not even so much as a whisper? 

And as much as you want to blame it all on Tetsuro, you have to shoulder your share too. He wasn't the only one who forgot to call or left a text buried under other messages. He wasn't the only one who canceled hangouts and slowly began to pull away. 

You did too. 

That fight was far from one-sided, you said things you desperately want to take back. You could’ve swallowed your pride and reached out first, Kuroo could’ve too and this whole mess wouldn’t have escalated to this. But when it was creeping up on months of no talking, it seemed shameful to even try. So you held back and didn’t say anything, even when you were missing your friendship. 

When you were missing him.

“This is the longest we’ve gone without speaking to each other. It feels weird.” Your voice is barely above a whisper because there’s a fear that if it were any louder, those words would shatter everything you two have left. 

“Yeah…” 

Neither of you know what to say, before this whole mess you barely had arguments that lasted more than a few hours. All you can do is skate around the issue, hoping one of you starts the painful conversation. 

But with every passing second the silence starts to weigh heavier, pressing down on your heart in ways that you’ve never felt before, and your mind doesn’t know how to alleviate the pressure. 

“I forgot what today was.” You blurt out, and the tears start to break through your attempt to keep them away. You’ve been ignoring the hurt, redirecting, and even erasing it because you weren’t ready to tell yourself that it was no longer the same. Because if you were to acknowledge that, then it becomes all too real and all too painful. 

And Kuroo has been doing the same, because no matter the distance or the time, the two of you were always on the same wavelength. Even when it came to unintentionally hurting each other. 

“I know.” His words are pillowy-soft and they contain no blame. And they teeter on the edge of something more. 

Tetsuro exhales a shaky breath, “I’m sorry. Everything I said I wish I could take it all back, I wish I apologized sooner. I’m sorry for waiting two years to finally call you. God, I’ve been suffering without you and I kept telling myself you would call or text and it would all go back to normal.” 

Your voice is thick with tears, “I was waiting too, I thought that you would call me and everything would just go back to usual. But, I think I really hurt you too and I’m really sorry, Tetsuu. I’m really really sorry for everything, especially for forgetting.” 

“It’s okay.” 

He’s trying to reassure you, something he’s always done. But, It’s okay to acknowledge your wrongdoings; sometimes friends hurt each other, no matter how close you are. In fact the closer you are, the more it hurts and sometimes the more it takes to mend. 

“It’s not okay. Tetsuro, we fought and didn’t speak for two years. It’s okay to say I hurt you and you hurt me. I know we are so used to nothing ever going wrong between us but something went wrong and it’s okay to say that.” 

There’s a millisecond of silence and that’s when you hear it: sniffles and quiet cries from a man who’s been holding everything in for way too long. That’s all he needed to hear, that it was normal to feel hurt and for it to stem from you. 

Kuroo’s voice cracks towards the end of his sentence, “Never knew you could be that mean.” 

He’s referencing the fight but there is a playfulness about his words, one that tells you that he’s ready to put the whole ordeal behind you.  

“Yes, you did.” You let out with a soft laugh. 

“I did,” He corrects, “I’ve witnessed you say worse to other people, but-”

“I’ve never been like that to you.” You interject, guilt creeping up on you. 

“I was pretty rude too.” 

“You definitely were.” 

Silence comes along again and now instead of tears, you both bust out into laughter. The whole situation seems more dramatic by the minute but you’re happy that you got the opportunity to fix it, to get your best friend back. And Kuroo is happy he got to hear your voice again, that he can hear it anytime he wants, and that you’ll smile with him once more. 

Sleep starts to hit the both of you and you yawn through your next words. 

“Are you free next weekend?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“We have to celebrate our friendversary, duh” 

Kuroo smiles, bright and wide, and it's evident in his tone. 

"Ice cream?" 

"Don't forget your wallet this time, it would be a shame if you got lice again." You tease. 

"Fuck you." Kuroo says, his smile never leaving. 

“I’m sure you want to.” You giggle, happy you can still get on his nerves. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hmm?” You’re expecting him to hit you with a line of his own. 

“I missed you.” His voice is ten different types of tender and sweet, and you can’t believe you went two years without this.

“I missed you too.”

more sad stuff but with a happy ending !! and more shit to come with it 😋 hope you liked it !!! taglist is open, link is at the top !!

[ursemma]

You're the best thing that's ever been mine!

Mattheo Riddle × fem!reader

Warning: trauma, angst, mention of knifes, alcohol, domestic fight, Pansy being a bitch, overthinking mention of depression and anxiety, loneliness, fluff, reassurance. Let me know if I missed anything (Happy ending!)

Post Hogwarts

Summary: basically based on Taylor Swift's Mine song.

'Do you remember, we were sittin' there by the water?

You put your arm around me for the first time

You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter

You are the best thing that's ever been mine'

Being a guarded person never in my life I thought I would sneak out, that too in the middle of night with Mattheo Riddle, but here I'm sitting by a lake with him, being wrapped around his arms, it's safe to say he brings out a rebel in me and I feel safe with him.

Flash forward, and we're takin' on the world together

And there's a drawer of my things at your place'

Fast forward one year later, we left the town and I moved in with him, he had a place in the town we're staying at. It was our first year anniversary and I bought a cake for him and a watch as a gift. "Matty I'm home." I announced as I kept the cake on the table. Hearing no response I decided to look for him in our bedroom and there he was and there's a drawer of my things at his place and that is open I think I know what's going on.

'You learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded

You say we'll never make my parents' mistakes'

The horror flushed into my eyes as I saw him reading my diary. I've written my entire childhood in that. How my father was alcoholic and how he used to neglect us, how my mother was so busy in work that she basically forgot she had a kid, how my parents reckless and careless behaviour made me so gaurded, how lonely I was my entire childhood that led anxiety and depression at an early age and how pathetic and weak person I was. And how it led to sever attachment issues and fear of being abandoned.

"w-what are you doing with that?" I asked him while carefully trying to read his expression hoping I wouldn't find a glimpse of disgust. Being an overthinker I can't help but think of worst of everything.

"why didn't you tell me?" He asked with curiosity. "Tell you what?" I tried to play it cool but I knew I lost.

"Don't. Don't do that. open up to me, I want to know everything of you y/n/n. Every peice of you. From your worst moments to your proudest, embarrassing to your happiest, darkest to your lightest. Every single thing. And I can't do that if you won't let me." He replied with a serious gaze and that truly made me break.

"what do you want to know? That my father abandoned us and went to exile and suddenly appeared when I was what like 13? And he used to come home drunk and every day I used to witness him and mom fighting every fucking night? Which used to remind me when I was just a fucking toddler my uncle used to do the same the only difference was that my uncle and aunt used to have a fucking knife pointed at each other. My mom trying to be a perfect mother she is neglected me by drowning herself into work. I was all alone witnessing everything with no one by my side. Scared from everything I used to lock up in my bedroom. I had no friends not even in school. I was bullied by my ex and his friends just because I broke up with him. I didn't had anyone to rely on. My fucking friends left me at my worst mattheo. Is that want you want to hear? how pathetic i am??. I replied while breaking down and he wrapped his arms around me while comforting me.

"first you're not pathetic. Second yes. I want to hear all of it every little detail of your life. If you don't tell me what hurted you how am I going to help you heal? I want to be their for you. In every step in your life I want to be their with you. And remember it's not your fault. And we'll never make your parents mistake. I'm not abandoning you or leaving you. You're never gonna get rid of me, you get tired? Sleep. And when you're feeling okay come back to me. The minute you agreed to be my girlfriend was the minute it was decided it's gonna be till death do us apart." He softly reassured me and that's what I needed to hear. For someone to tell me that it's not my fault. That they are going to be their for me. That it's ride or die.

'Do you remember, we were sittin' there by the water?

You put your arm around me, for the first time

You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter

You are the best thing that's ever been mine'

Me and Matty laid down on our bed and I told him every single detail of my life. And suddenly he spoke "do you remember our first date?" "Oh yes! You took me to the lake and we were sitting by the water!!" I exclaimed as i remembered the memory. "Yeah I can't believe that you snuck out for me" he chuckled. "Yeah and now I ran away with you and left the town" I replied with amusement. "I can't believe that I made a rebel of a careless man's carefull daughter and you're the best thing that's ever been mine."

I looked into his eyes as he said those words and saw nothing but sincerity. "You're the best thing that's ever been mine too, Matty, and I would break thousands of rules if it means spending every second of my lifetime with you." He looked at me smiled and pulled me in for a kiss. "Oh yeah?? Where's my rule following good girl i kinda missed her" he teased me and started to tickle me. "Oh my god Matty stop" i giggled and we spent the night cuddling in eachothers arms.

It's been two years since that incident and me and Mattheo grew up alot more as a couple. I heard his friends are in town and we're going to meet them. "Hiee I'm Lorenzo but you can call me Enzo it's nice to meet you mattheo talks alot about you whenever we meet or calls or text" he excitedly introduced himself.

So I met Theodore, Blaise, Enzo and Draco and they all were friendly, i already like them. As we were about to eat a girl introduced herself, "oh you can't be eating without me can you?" She looked over us and suddenly the table went silent.

"hey I'm Pansy Parkinson, Mattheo's e-" as she was about to complete the sentence "friend. She's our friend." Draco quickly answered. "Oh come on Draco you wouldn't want her to know how me and Mattheo used to smoke late night and cuddle up together? Is that what friends do? How we used to party till late forgetting about the world." Pansy spoke with a smirk and i already got a mean girl vibe from her. I looked over to mattheo and was glaring at her I was hoping for a explanation but was met with a silence.

"oh come on theo scoot over i heard this was a friends reunion and i wasn't invited" she said while taking a seat. "This was a meet up of the boys with my girlfriend pansy and it was better off without you, and i think by not inviting you clearly gives a massage that I didn't wanted you to be here" Mattheo spoke while shooting draggers at her. "Oh come on Mattheo did you forget i was always a party crasher?" She replied by throwing a wink at him.

The entire dinner went silently and I got up and went to restroom to wash my hands "oh comeon do you really think Mattheo loves you?" I heard pansy's voice. "I mean you are completely opposite of his type. You don't party, you don't smoke, you don't dress up, you aren't even that pretty and comeon you aren't even that confident. And trust me Mattheo is known Playboy, if you ask any girl from our school 8 out of 10 girls has dated him. He can't keep a girl longer and you're nothing but another experiment for him" As she spoke insecurity started to crawl up my skin. I mean she was right wasn't she, he has a reputation to keep, he would leave me if he find a better one, and i being myself would be left alone just like always. I'm not pretty enough, i don't do anything he likes, I don't smoke, i don't drink infact i hate alcohol, I lack confidence, I'm weak, I'm fragile, I'm pathetic. "Yeah you're right." With that i left the restroom.

I stared to think about everything she said and don't know how but I ended up at the nearest park.

'And I remember that fight, 2:30 AM

As everything was slipping right out of our hands

I ran out, crying, and you followed me out into the street'

I didn't realised it was 2:30 Am I looked at my phone and there were 80+ missed calls and 150+ msgs from Mattheo, there were 50+ calls and msgs from his friends. "Shit" cursing my self I decided to go home. "Y/n/n is that you??" Mattheo exclaimed with relief as he saw me leaving the park. I was about to exit but he came towards me.

"Where were you why weren't you answering calls and massages and what happened to you?" He asked me scanning my face. " A- as you can see I- I was at the park and m-mattheo after thinking alot I- I think it's best if we-" i stuttered while speaking. 'pathetic. Can't even speak without fumbling. Pansy was right he'll get tired of me.' the devil in me spoke. "If we what?" He spoke being dead serious. "I-if if we broke up." I gathered the courage and spoke it looking at my feet.

"don't you dare. Don't you dare to think of breaking up just bcoz 'you thought alot.' and where is this coming from?." He spoke angrily. "Don't you see? This isn't working and it won't. There are alot of girls better than me. I'm not like you Mattheo. I don't party, I don't smoke, I hate alcohol, I'm not like you. I don't like being in a crowded place. I'm not the one you want. Pansy was right about it Mattheo and on top you've a reputation to keep you'll get tired of me eventually." I hated how I sounded, I hate how this was taking place moreover I hated how it was falling apart.

Braced myself for the goodbye

'Cause that's all I've ever known

Then you took me by surprise

You said, "I'll never leave you alone"

"i think it's better if we parted our ways." I countinued i was met with a silence for a minute and I spoke "wh- why aren't you saying anything?" "Are you done?" That was his answer. "Are you done speaking nonsense? And care to give me a chance to speak?" "Yes I'm done you can say." I replied while trying to sound composed.

"I've changed since I met you. My life then was chaotic and it brought me nothing but destruction. I partied, drank, smoke to drown my sorrow, I changed girls like cloth just for pleasure. But after everything went down with my father and all I changed. I was in highschool then y/n/n. I was a whole different person, I changed the town to move on, to move on with you, to become a better person, and other girls out there they aren't you. I want you. And i don't care about them okay? I care about you. I'll never get tired of you. And trust me I'll never leave you alone. Fuck what pansy said I don't care. the reason I didn't wanted you to meet her wasn't that I still want her it was the fact that I knew she'll pull a stunt like this. And about confidence, it takes time you haven't completely healed, and we're working on that, and I'm there for you. I don't think you're pathetic and I don't care what other's think i love you and that's what matters and it's not your fault what happened with you." He hugged me as spoke those words and I believed him.

Do you remember, we were sittin' there by the water? You put your arm around me, for the first time.

You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter.

You are the best thing that's ever been mine.

Do you remember all the city lights on the water?

You saw me start to believe for the first time.

You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter.

You are the best thing that's ever been mine.

"And by the way, happy birthday." I looked at him in utter confusion, it's my birthday? Oh shit it is. "I knew you'll forget it" he rolled his eyes teasingly "oh comeon with everything going on you expect me to remember it." I replied playfully and suddenly he got on his knees I looked at him in confusion "so my beloved, as it's your birthday I want to give you a gift. A promise to always be with you in every step of your life, a promise to never leave, a promise to Cherise you forever, a promise to never hurt you , a promise to be with you till death do us apart. Y/n l/n will you marry me and do the honour to let me fulfill every promise I've made and accept my gift?" I looked at him stunned and it was dead silence and the only sound we could hear was of water running in the nearby fountain. "Oh comeon answer me and let me wife you up!!" He whined like a child. I chuckled and screamed "yes Matty I'll marry you!!" He slided the ring on my finger and hugged me we jumped like little kids and my inner child felt safe with him. I started to believe for the first time.

[gyusbambi]

humph; han seojun (pt 2)

 click here for humph masterlist!

part 1, part 3

story: frenemies to enemies to lovers, high school au

synopsis: seojun and you have known each other since kindergarten. you’re neighbors and even attended the same singing and piano classes. despite knowing each other for such a long time, you don’t enjoy spending time with seojun. even though you are aware of his unfairness, you keep spending time with him. when will you finally leave your childhood frenemy?

note: juyeong is reader’s brother and is not related to the lims, jugyeong doesn’t exist in this story. humph! is a story inspired by pentagon's "humph! / 접근금지". originally, this is a seungyeon fanfiction, which i posted on my wattpad. words: 4k

after the encounter, you try your best to avoid han seojun. everytime you spot him walking in the hallways, your feet start moving faster. every so often you won’t allow yourself to put all of your books into your locker and end up carrying the heavy things during the whole day. why does his locker have to be next to yours anyway?

seojun might be academically not the best, but he sure isn’t dumb.

clearly, he notices how you turn around and walk into a complete different classroom whenever he makes an appearance in the same hallway. he also notices how you always walk around with piles of books, never taking the chance to place them into your locker, since his own happens to be next to yours.

one day he spots lee suho helping you with carrying your books. smiling, you thank your friend and hand him over some of them. while heading towards the classroom together, you talk about the upcoming school trip. unfortunately, you’re not quite able to see what’s in front of you since the pile of books cover your sight slightly. yet, as seojun walks past suho, his shoulder hits suho’s which makes the books fall out of his hands with a loud thud. 

quickly, you help suho collect the books on the floor and don’t fail to notice him muttering,

“what’s his problem?” 

_

it’s an entertaining thursday evening as you spend time in the karaoke bar with your classmates. kang soojin, who happens to be suho’s childhood friend, asked you and suho to tag along with them. first, lee suho declined the kind offer but you luckily managed to convince him. 

the noraebang is filled with laughter when taehoon, sua’s boyfriend, sings his lungs out to his favorite song. after your eyes wander from the couple too soojin and then too suho, a smile forms on your face. taehoon’s arm is around suho’s shoulder as they both sing a ballad. you’re happy that suho opens up to others more and you enjoy being able to spend time with these four, feeling like you’re making new friends.

however, it feels a little strange that seojun and chorong aren’t around. you remember how you would go to the karaoke bar every saturday, sometimes it was only seojun and you. secretly, you adored listening to his voice.

suddenly, the notification sound of your phone wakes you up from your short trance. 

juyeong: why is seojun hyung’s bike in front of our house?

it’s a message from your younger brother. why hasn’t seojun picked up his bike yet?

while the others continue singing, you excuse yourself and walk outside in order to call your younger brother. patiently, you walk back and forth, waiting for him to answer the call. you sigh when he doesn’t pick up and are about to dial his number again.

before you can do so, you jump and let out a yelp at a familiar voice,

“y/n?”

it’s han seojun.

frightened you turn around, palm pressed to your heart.

“you scared me!” closing your eyes, you let out a relieved breath.

“you’re here too?” seojun ignores your shocked reaction.

“yes.”

“with whom?”

taken aback, you stay silent for a short moment, not knowing how to respond. clearly, you’re aware that seojun, for some reason, isn’t on good terms with suho. therefore, you wouldn’t want him to start a conflict with the innocent boy right here, at the karaoke bar.

“uh, i’m here with soojin a-”

abruptly you trail off when you spot lee suho himself at the entrance, searching for you while his glance shifts through the place. luckily, seojun’s back is facing the entrance. the boy in front of you waits for you to continue but is caught off guard when you pull him around the corner, before suho can find you.

“what are you doing?” seojun questions with lines forming between his brows.

nervously, you try to come up with an excuse while avoiding his gaze, checking behind his back if suho saw you, 

“your motorcycle-”

“look who we have over here! seojunnie!”

at the sound of lee sungyong and his gang you stop talking and observe an annoyed expression appear on seojun’s face.

when you turn around to face them, they let out surprised laughs,

“y/n, long time no see!”

“why do you have to here.” seojun groan.

soon, you sense that something bad could happen any moment which makes you dart your glance around the area nervously, looking for a possible way out. timidly, you draw your mouth into a straight line before your fingers firmly grip around seojun’s, pulling him away from the others without thinking twice. the young boy seems shocked by your actions as his legs adjust to your pace.

in no time, you find yourself running away from lee sungyong and his gang, your hand still clutched on seojun’s wrist. adrenaline courses through your veins as you pass several stores, pushing people out of your way. to the sound of lee sungyong shouting your names, you keep your breath steady, push harder and run even faster. 

seojun himself forces his legs to push harder, his lungs straining. his breath thickening, he steals a quick glance at you. the wind whips your hair away from your face as you face forwards with an uneasy look. his mind is frantic with thoughts: how is it possible to move this fast?

yet, at this great speed, you can barely see a few feet ahead of you. your feet nearly slip from beneath you when your shoes pound heavily across the ground and mud splashes up your leg. 

noticing this, seojun rapidly takes your hand into his own without slowing down and takes the lead. since the boy is familiar with this dark area, he sprints around the next corner. the shoutings behind you don’t stop, demanding you to stop running. after sprinting for solid minutes, you finally hide behind a wall when seojun finds a way to trick the gangsters.

heart pounding faster than ever, you’re still concerned that they will find you. seojun squats down next to you, his legs tired from all the running. when your surroundings are safe, you swiftly stand up while your breath comes in short gasps. 

claiming you’re tired would be an understatement. you are exhausted. still you feel relieved that you could escape the group of boys.

moments later seojun sighs with annoyance behind you. 

“why did you have to drag me away?” the boy complains before you turn around to face him with a frown on your face.

it’s dark and quiet outside, indicating that it’s probably really late. the air is cold which makes you shiver for a moment. when you wait for him to continue instead of answering, seojun groans, not believing that you seriously don’t understand what he’s trying to point out.

“they’ll think it’s weird of us to run away like cowards. ah, you’re really dumb.”

“i’m dumb?”, you raise your voice with squinted eyes before he can leave,

“you’re the one who believes fish are wet.”

“fish are wet.” the boy slowly turns around to face you again.

“they’re not because they’re surrounded by water. once they get out of-”

“it’s water, y/n!”

it’s not worth arguing with someone as dumb as him.

with a mirthless smile you shake your head,

“you’re the dumb one.”

after that you leave to make your way home, completely forgetting to ask seojun about his motorcycle. the boy himself watches you walk away with a little worry. shouldn’t he walk you home at this time? ah, never mind. 

and so he walks home by himself, not used to the fact that his motorcycle is away from him.

_

the next day in school seems like a regular one. fortunately, you were able to get enough sleep this time. thankfully, seojun’s motorcycle was no longer parked in front of your house this morning. not expecting anything spectacular to happen, you enter the classroom with several books in your arms, like always. however, as soon as some of your classmates notice you, they walk to your seat with widen eyes.

“y/n! where were you last night?”, soojin asks you with a calm tone.

sua hits your shoulder playfully and whines, “do you know how worried we were?!”

oh, no. you completely forgot to contact them after your small adventure with han seojun.

“poor suho looked everywhere for you.”, taehoon pouts, his glance darting to suho, who was sitting on his seat peacefully.

after hearing taehoon’s words, you turn your head to the innocent boy with regret written on your face,

“i’m so sorry.”

“don’t worry, y/n. we’re glad you’re okay.” suho smiles at you as the others agree.

the day passes normally, like you predicted, until lunch break. 

considering kim chorong is nowhere to be seen, and you’re trying to stay away from han seojun, you sit next to you other friends during lunch. the same people from the karaoke bar talk about their plans after school, when suddenly everyone looks up to the sight of han seojun’s. his loud steps and irritated expression catches all the attention in the canteen.

however, you feel concerned when you’re approached by him, your heart beating a little faster.

“yah, y/l/n y/n.” 

you gulp when he carefully talks in a controlled voice, glaring at you through his cat like eyes,

“come out.”

the whole lunch room gasps with surprise at his statement, anticipating on what will happen next. just when he grabs your arm to drag you out of the room, lee suho steps between you both, slapping seojun’s grip away from your arm,

“what do you think you’re doing?”, he speaks with a low voice.

“you better stay out of this.”

han seojun hisses and holds on your uniform this time, pulling you away from the others.

your head is filled with endless questions when you’re forced to follow him out. what have you done wrong? the corridor is empty and silent as the boy in front of you pounds his hand on the wall behind you, leaving only a small gap between your faces. your back is pressed against the cold wall. 

blown away by the sudden closeness you swallow dryly, unable to wet your parched throat. his sudden change in mood slightly intimates you.

“you think you can piss me off easily?”

you’re taken aback when he snaps.

“wh-what are you talking about?” nervously, you stammer while excessively blinking.

after that, seojun laughs with edge, eyes leaving yours for a moment to remain his calm. why are you pretending to not know? seconds later he bends down to your height, now even closer than before. eyes looking deeply into yours, he tries to read you. yet, the only thing he’s able to see is your confusion.

“do you believe giving my keys to that bastard is funny?”

“i have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

luckily, the worry in you melts down a little but you’re still confused.

“you’re really starting to get on my nerves now. this morning lee sungyong came to me with these, and my damaged bike.”

frustrated, seojun takes his keys out of his jacket-pocket and holds them up for you too see. a line forms between your brows when you stare at the keys, waiting for him to continue,

“and what do i have to do with that?”

“are you kidding me?! you’re the person who had my keys the whole time!” seojun hisses, his voice raising which causes you to flinch lightly,

“my bike was parked in front of your house, remember? you gave my keys to that bastard!”

“i didn’t have your keys!” finally you defend yourself, slowly getting annoyed by his behavior.

“you did, i gave them to you last week!”

seojun’s face is still insanely close to yours.

“you did, but i gave them back to you.” you look into his eyes with confusion.

“what?” seojun’s expression reflects your own.

“i-i put them into your pocket. didn’t you notice?”

oh no. he absolutely didn’t.

“when did you do that?”

“the day after you gave them to me. i thought you would notice.” you mumble the last part quietly, suddenly feeling like it’s your fault.

precisely, you remember how you put seojun’s keys back in his jacket, which was hanging on his seat when he wasn’t around. taking the opportunity, you decided to quickly put them in there without having to face seojun for it, since you weren’t on good terms. 

all this time you wondered why the boy wouldn’t pick up his bike. it was standing there whole time, which made you believe that maybe he truly wanted to quit riding his motorcycle.

however, it turns out that he never noticed. how did the others find his keys, though? was it your fault? perhaps you should have simply handed them to him personally instead of being stubborn.

seojun sighs with frustration and runs his hand through his hair,

“how did they get them then?”

suddenly it all clicks. everything makes sense when you remember every detail from last night. with unease your eyes widen,

“the jacket you wore last night... it was the navy one, right?”

he thinks for a moment before nodding, waiting for you to continue.

“i put the keys in that one. maybe it slipped out while we were running?”

you glance around, not focusing on anything as you try to avoid his eyes. this doesn’t feel good at all.

a momentary look of discomfort crosses seojun’s face. he realizes that you’re possibly right and that he shouldn’t have accused you to do something like that. the fact that he already messed up by telling suho to stay away from you makes everything even worse. he feels guilty when he catches you looking around nervously. it’s not your fault.

right when he’s about to form words, two students run past him which causes him to stumble over his feet in shock. on the spur of the moment, his body is pressed on yours. at the sudden contact, you let out a small gasp when you notice that you’re stuck between him and the wall. one of his palms is still pressed against the wall behind you, while the other one holds on your shoulder to steady himself.

both of you look up at the same time, embarrassed by his sudden actions. when your eyes meet, your heart pounds against your ribs as if trying to reach thousand beats. it’s so intense that you internally pray for him not to hear it. his face is only a few centimetres away from yours which makes you freeze on spot. somehow you feel his breath on your cheek and you think you’re about to lose it. 

why are you so nervous suddenly?

why does his gaze make your heart beat so fast?

carefully, you study seojun’s face. his dark hair partly falls over his forehead, his eyes now relaxed, cheeks tinted a bright shade of pink.

in fact, seojun is blushing profusely. just like you, he’s taken aback by the closeness and can’t help but gaze into your eyes deeply. he too, feels strangely nervous, a little too nervous if truth be told.

after what seems like seconds, you can’t stand it anymore and forcefully hit his forehead with your head, which makes him stumble backwards.

probing the pained area, seojun winces, “what the hell?!”

“i-i told you i didn’t give them your keys!”, you decide to come up with that instead of showing how the boy effected you so easily,

“you always put the blame on me.” after mumbling that you rush back to the canteen in super speed, hoping for your poor heart to calm down.

seojun only watches you sprint away, unaware of how he made you feel. rubbing his forehead painfully, he shakes his head in order to get rid of his thoughts.

there’s no way. i should probably just see a doctor.

_

time passes quickly and finally the important day has come: the school trip. everyone from your grade was talking about the upcoming event the whole time, planing several games and activities. for you it seems nice too but since you’re avoiding seojun, which also automatically makes it harder to see chorong, you worry how you’re going to spend the whole time on your own. it’s a bummer that lee suho refused to join the trip. certainly, you attempted to convince your friend but unsuccessful. 

as soon as you arrive at the school gates, where everyone is already waiting with their suitcases, you feel uneasy. nearing the others, you concern about the fact that you’ll probably have to sit alone in the bus. yet, when you finally approach the others you spot suho standing next to soojin, sua and taehoon. instantly, a smile appears on your face and you greet them, adding that you’re happy for suho to join them. glancing around, it doesn’t take you long to see han seojun next to kim chorong. without looking at them for too long, you focus back on your other friend group with little uncertainty. 

one by one, students enter the bus after putting their suitcases into the bus trunk. for some reason you happen to be the last person to enter the bus. after putting your luggage into the trunk, you’re ready to go inside. yet, out of nowhere chorong appears in front of you with puppy eyes, begging for you to pack his snacks into your backpack, since his own is already full. not thinking about it too much, you agree and start placing them into your bag. chorong smiles with satisfaction and thanks you before his eyes check behind him. he winks at sua and gives her a sign after making sure you’re not paying attention to him.

sua then pushes her boyfriend and soojin inside when nobody is left, leaving chorong and you alone. eventually you manage to push in all the snacks into your bag. you’re surprised when you see that everyone is already in the bus and follow chorong inside as well. 

as soon as you enter, suho finds your eyes and waves at you, indicating that he saved you a seat next to him. happily, you nod and wait for the others in front of you to take their seats. 

you fail to notice chorong’s eyes widen when he stops in front of you, not allowing you to sit next to lee suho. sua understands the situation and slightly pushes kang soojin towards the empty seat next to suho. 

oh, well.

both of your friends exchange surprised looks. however, seconds later soojin smiles at the boy next to him, starting a conversation.

as a matter of fact, you feel upset. disappointed, you move on, eyes not leaving chorong’s back. who are you going to sit next to now? 

when the boy in front eventually arrives at the very back, you’re concerned. surprisingly, kim chorong takes the seat behind han seojun, leaving the last seat, which was next to seojun, for you.

han seojun doesn’t bother looking up, as he’s focused on his phone. clearing your throat, you request,

“chorong-ah, change seats with me.” 

“nah, i like this seat.” stubbornly, he crosses his arms across his chest, head leaning against the window with closed eyes.

the short conversation catches seojun’s attention and he looks up with curiosity. after taking a look at the filled seats his eyes land and you. he’s surprised when he notices that you have to take seat next to him.

letting out a quiet sigh, you give chorong one last glare before sitting next to seojun. this is either going to be really awkward or provoking.

of course, once again you don’t notice chorong peeking at the both of you before giving sua and taehoon a thumbs up, content that their plan worked successfully.

“are you sure this is a good idea?” taehoon whispers to his girlfriend,

“they look like they’ll throw hands at each other any moment.”

“ ah, don’t worry. they’ll make up sooner than you think.” sua takes a quick glimpse of you plugging in your earpods without exchanging any words with the boy next to you.

but sua was wrong.

half an hour already passes and you still haven’t spoken any word. although, there‘s a small desire of talking to you in seojun, he can‘t make himself form the right words. 

right when chorong is about to lose hope and fall asleep, something finally happens.

feeling tired from all the packing last night, you sense your eyelids getting heavier and you’re struggling to keep them open. nonetheless, you’re no longer able to do so and you fall asleep instantly.

out of the blue seojun feels your head resting on his shoulder. the boy is dumbstruck when his eyes widen, holding in his breath for a moment. his body shuts down and he doesn’t know how to react when his posture stiffens. besides that, he feels the skin on his shoulder tingle. 

seojun almost curses under his breath when his heart races once again. this time, there’s a fluttering in his stomach as well, causing him to go speechless. from the corner of his eye, he observes your expression. a slight frown forms on your face, hair covering parts of it, lips in a small pout. 

no matter what you do, you look so effortlessly... good. it doesn’t make a difference to him if you’re annoyed, confused, happy or simply tired. he always notices himself looking at you the same way, with adoring eyes. attempting to ignore it, he chose to tease you, not daring to ever show you. 

he knew he went to far and feels stupid for his actions. yet, why doesn’t he just apologize? perhaps he doesn’t want to accept the fact that you mean much more to him. perhaps he’s afraid he’ll never mean more to you.

still asleep, you unknowingly move your head closer to seojun’s chest, feeling more comfortable this way. after that, he feels your arm wrap around his torso, almost snuggling him.

the boy’s heart melts at the sight of you. although his heart feels like exploding, he doesn’t want to admit that he kinda enjoys the skin-ship with his you. right when he’s about to run his hand through your hair, the sound of a camera catches his attention.

he looks up to find sua taking a polaroid picture, chorong awing at the sight of his two friends sharing a moment.

“aw, you guys are so cute!” sua jumps up and down, while handing seojun the polaroid picture.

suddenly seojun gets aware of his surroundings and the situation he finds himself in. he blinks a few times before moving his shoulder purposely while coughing, making your head fall down in a swift move.

before it hits his lap, you open your eyes and rub them with a displeased expression,

“what happened?”, you ask with a low voice, completely clueless. 

“why- why do you fall asleep on my shoulder? that’s so uncomfortable. get a pillow or something!”

seojun stammers in the beginning, eyes not able to meet your tired ones. your friends sigh with annoyance and return to their seats, disappointed by seojun’s change in mood.

“sorry.” after rubbing your eyes, you steal a short glance at seojun. you’re slightly embarrassed and fix your hair while sitting up properly.

the boy only shrugs, quickly hiding the polaroid in the pocket inside of his jacket before you can see it.

seemingly, this trip is not going to be easy for han seojun.

little does he know, this was only the beginning of cupid chorong’s plan.

_

to be continued...

[dontbipanicjonsa]

A confusing clusterfuck of thoughts re: Jonsa

Or: why the fuck are Jon and Sansa so compatible if they're not canon, huh?

He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. - Bran III AGOT

So....Jon is going to lose memory of all warmth? I'm going to separate the changes brought about in post-resurrection!Jon here as changes caused by death and changes caused by Ghost. This post is only speculating about the changes caused by death i.e. loss of memory of all warmth.

More foreshadowing for that-

Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. - Jon III AGOT

"It was. The fort is in a sorry state, admittedly. You will restore it as best you can..." ... You'll sleep on stone, too exhausted to complain or plot, and soon you'll forget what it was like to be warm, but you might remember what it was to be a man. - Jon II ADWD

So, I did a word search for warm and memory and I found some interesting stuff. Read under the cut.

1. Home

Jon- warmth and memory of home

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon II AGOT (thinking about Arya)

The weariness came on him suddenly... So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot waters ran through the walls like blood through a man's body. There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black... - Jon III AGOT

...Iron Emmett was still urging on his charges in the yard. The song of steel on steel woke a hunger in Jon. It reminded him of warmer, simpler days, when he had been a boy at Winterfell matching blades with Robb under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. Ser Rodrik too had fallen, slain by Theon Turncloak... All my memories are poisoned. - Jon VI ADWD

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it.-Jon XII ASOS

So, these are the memories of warmth he'll lose? This warmth, that he associates with Winterfell (and the Starks), is the first memory of warmth Jon has.

Dany- memory of home

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind... and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.

"… the dragon …" - Daenerys IX AGOT

Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door … was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? - Daenerys VI AGOT

..."What shall we talk of?"

"Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world."

Missandei did her best. She was still talking when Dany finally fell to sleep, to dream queer, half-formed dreams of smoke and fire. - Daenerys VIII ADWD

Dany's idea of 'home' changes over the course of the books. In the beginning she uses home for Illyrio's house, or the house with the red door. She very clearly doesn't think of Westeros as her home. After Viserys's death however, there's a sudden shift. Now, Westeros is her long lost home that she must return to someday. It's jarring. Interestingly enough, she pretty clearly rejects the idea of Dothraki khalasars as home, and the only time she calls Meereen home is in her last chapter of ADWD where she's trying to convince herself to return there. But we know that she ultimately rejects that too, in the same chapter.

Sansa- memory of home

Snow was falling on the Eyrie.

Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? Already the snowfall lay thick... The sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the long summer of her childhood. - Sansa VII ASOS

Last of all came the Royces, Lord Nestor and Bronze Yohn... Though his hair was grey and his face lined, Lord Yohn still looked as though he could break most younger men like twigs in those huge gnarled hands. His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. - Alayne I AFFC

She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend... She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell... - Sansa II ACOK

Arya coz why not

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths.… Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you …" - Arya II AGOT

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC

Again, all this (and much more) is stuff that reminds Sansa (and Arya) of home. This is, presumably, shit that Jon is gonna forget. Or maybe he'll retain the memories and only lose the emotions (warmth) associated with it?

2. Suitors or romantic/sexual partners (+Ben Plumm)

Jon

Many a night he lay with Ygritte warm beside him,... - Jon V ASOS

So, Ygritte becomes his second memory of warmth.

When he turned he saw Ygritte.

...cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said.

"Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's.

Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. - Jon VI ADWD

AT NIGHT ALL ROBES ARE GREY...yea I know, this is a well established connection between the Girl in Grey and Ygritte. Since Jon associates Ygritte with warmth so strongly, I think it's safe to assume that the Girl in Grey might play a role in warming him too (hehe).

… one hears queer talk of dragons."

"Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit."

"My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons." - Jon IX ADWD

Yikes.

Dany

"If my queen commands," he (Jorah) said, curt and cold.

Dany was warm enough for both of them. "She does," she said. "She commands...

When he was gone, Dany threw herself down on her pillows beside her dragons. She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon. - Daenerys IV ASOS

So, here the warmth is because of anger (woken the dragon).

Dany could feel the warmth of his fingers. He was warm in Qarth as well, she recalled, until the day he had no more use for me. She rose to her feet. "Come," she said, and Xaro followed her through the pillars... - Daenerys III ADWD

She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted... Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust?- Daenerys VI ADWD

This is twice that Dany associates warmth with people who use/betray her.

"You're hurt," she gasped.

"This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile." He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. - Daenerys VI ADWD

Dawn always came too soon.

...If only she had the power, she would have made their nights go on forever, but the best that she could do was stay awake to try and savor every last sweet moment before daybreak turned them into no more than fading memories....

Dany wrapped her arms around her captain and pressed herself against his back. She drank in the scent of him, savoring the warmth of his flesh, the feel of his skin against her own. Remember, she told herself. Remember how he felt. - Daenerys VII ADWD

Ok, I forgot how smitten Dany was with Daario. It would be cute if Daario wasn't so horrifying. Girl has some seriously questionable taste.

Interestingly, the phrase 'fading memory' is used four times in the text (as far as I can find) and three of those times are in Daenerys's POV. One is in the above quote, where she's commanding herself to remember her time with Daario before her marriage to Hizdahr, and the other time is while thinking about the red door. Both these are memories that are important to her, that connect her to the hopeful/little/not-dark girl she once was.

Sansa

Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. - Tyrion VIII ASOS

"I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her." - Sansa VII ASOS

"Alayne." Her aunt's singer stood over her. "Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you." - Sansa VI ASOS

You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands." - Sansa VII ASOS

Yea no. Sansa has not had a good experience with people offering to warm her (unfreeze her? melt her?)

Looks like in TWOW there's going to be two people in desperate need of some warming.

It's pretty neat actually. Jon associates memories of warmth with two things primarily: Winterfell/the Starks, and Ygritte. Sansa is both a Stark, and a much (much) improved Ygritte.

Sansa's iciness-wall-armour is a form of protection that she employs against predatory men. The only person who can melt her frozen heart...is someone who is not predatory. Someone who cares for her. Jon.

It fits perfectly. They fit perfectly.

[marky4l]

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 

[upthenorthmountain]

Where the World is in the Making - Chapter 13

I wrote this for the Summer 2021 Frozine, huge thank you to @punkpoemprose​ for putting that together! And to @karis-the-fangirl​ as always. Here we go

Previous Chapters

Chapter 13

The Solheims had been good people. Still were, Kristoff was sure. It was Mrs Inga Solheim who had nursed his mother through her last illness, who had said to Kristoff, after - Well, get your things together. Don’t you want to see what it’s like out West? And he had - not that he had anything else to do or anywhere else to go - so he’d pulled together the few things that he was sure were his and joined them in the back of their covered wagon. They’d inched their way across the country, along with the other two wagons of Solheims (all three were brothers, and each had a wife, and between them six children when they set out and seven when they arrived, not counting Kristoff), and he’d been quiet and anxious, desperate to prove he could be useful, that he was worth taking all that way. He’d worked hard for them and learnt a lot, and until the day he died he’d be overwhelmingly grateful for the chance they’d given him.

And now, for something else.

There was an interesting item in the newspaper last week, Mrs Solheim had written. An article about how there aren’t enough women out West. Good men with good farms who can’t find a wife. And some have apparently been placing advertisements in the newspaper to find one! What an idea! But it seems some have been successful. You should try it, Kristoff! I’m sure you must be lonely.

What an idea, indeed. He’d rolled his eyes and ignored it, but she’d mentioned it again, and again, and eventually he’d done it just so she’d stop. He’d never in a million years thought he’d actually get an applicant. He hadn’t thought he’d wanted one.

Anna was weeding the vegetable garden. The plants were all full-grown now, tall and green, and she was kneeling - she never had much regard for her skirts - between them as she worked.

With her help, he’d been able to repair the fields after the storm, and lost far less than he’d feared. With her help, the chickens were happy and gave plenty of eggs; the cow was happy and gave plenty of milk (and the goat was happy, too, though his high spirits were not usually a cause for celebration). With her help, the garden had flourished, and was producing enough that she and Elsa had already spent a day with Marta Ogg preserving and canning and would have plenty more to put up before the season was over.

Anna suddenly jumped back onto her heels with an “Ouch!” and Kristoff hurried over.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh - yes - thank you -” she peered at her finger. “A little bit of something just ran under my fingernail. But it’s not bleeding so I guess it didn’t go too far. Is it nearly dinner?”

“I’ve been out in the fields, you tell me.”

 “Elsa’s cooking. I keep thinking I smell something but I can’t work out what.” She waved her hands at him until he backed up, then shuffled along on her knees to the next section of the vegetable bed. “I like it when she cooks. She’s a much better cook than I am.”

Kristoff opened his mouth and then closed it again, choosing to kneel next to her rather than speak. Anna laughed. “Thank you.”

“I don’t mean - the two of you have different talents.”

“Okay.”

“You complement each other.”

“Well, maybe that’s true.”

“She wouldn’t have much to cook without you here, doing this.”

Anna sat back and hugged her knees. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m here,” she said. “Sometimes everything before seems like a dream.”

She looked at him, and no matter how muddy her skirts or how much of the dirt had found its way to her face, her eyes were always that same perfect clear blue. 

“And I’m glad,” she said. “I’m glad I’m not there any more.”

“Glad to be out of the city? Away from - people that were unkind?”

“No, you don’t understand. Before…” Anna sighed. “I didn’t do anything. I mean. I called on people, and I went out and danced and talked to more people, and I embroidered and I looked pretty and none of it had any point. Nothing I did made anyone’s life better, or easier. I was just - passing the time. My whole life. Looking pretty and passing time.”

Anna sighed again, then reached over and plucked another weed from the soil.

“There you go,” she said. “I pulled up one weed, and I’ve already been more useful than I would have been in a whole week back in the city.”

“You like to be useful.”

“I don’t like to be useless. Or pointless.”

They both sat there, among the green plants, beneath the endless sky. Kristoff could feel it, building, and he was leaning in towards her ever so slightly when Anna said abruptly, “I want to mean something,” and turned her eyes to his again, blue as the ocean and clear as the running stream.

It’s slow, sometimes, but it wears away bit by bit - or comes crashing through all at once - and nothing is the same after.

He leant towards her again, just as Elsa called them to the house for dinner.

-----

The narrow bed in the tiny room was familiar enough now. It almost felt cosy. Before coming here Anna had had her own bedroom for years, but it had never been quiet - there was always noise on the streets outside, or people passing in the corridors. Out here, being alone would have been deathly silent without the sound of Elsa’s breathing.

It wasn’t silent outside tonight, though. She could hear someone singing.

Or rather, not ‘someone’. It was a man’s voice, and there was only one man within miles, so it must be Kristoff singing. Anna couldn’t make out any words. She’d heard him whistling before, around the farm, but never singing.

She wriggled out of the bed. Elsa stirred and opened her eyes.

“I just need to, um,” Anna said, knowing that Elsa would assume she was going to the outhouse; sure enough, her sister gave a little nod and closed her eyes again.

The summer air was warm and Anna barely regretted not picking up a shawl. As she pushed the barn door open she felt a brief pang, remembering another night that she’d come out to the barn in her nightdress - but that quickly disappeared, replaced by the sight in front of her. Kristoff was sitting against the far wall, with his straw hat upside down in his lap, and the hat was full of kittens; and he was singing to them in the warm glow of a lantern.

Anna stood there for one long, breathless moment. She didn’t know the song. She didn’t even know what language it was in, although she could guess that it was Norwegian. It was a soft song; a lullaby. The kittens seemed to be appreciating it, cuddling up together in the hat, and for a second Anna thought she was going to cry. Then Kristoff finished his verse, looked up and saw her.

“Anna,” he said, and cleared his throat, sitting up straighter to a chorus of irritated meows.

“I heard you singing,” she said, walking all the way into the barn and closing the door behind her. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you -”

“You didn’t. What song is that?” she said, sitting down next to him and tucking her feet beneath her.

Kristoff looked at his hands for a moment. “My mother used to sing it,” he said.

“When you were little?” 

He smiled. “Yes.” He hesitated again, then said “I don’t want to forget it.”

Sometimes Anna got so caught up in the everyday that she forgot all kinds of things. Like, for example, the fact that they were both orphans. She knew Kristoff’s childhood had been very different to her own. If she tried, Anna could remember her mother tucking her into bed with a soft lullaby, but she could more often remember a nursemaid putting her to bed and blowing out the candle. A goodnight from her mother was usually a brief kiss; a goodnight from her father was a nod. And every day it grew fainter and her memories rearranged themselves to match the handful of photographs in the bottom of her and Elsa’s trunk.

It was better to think about the present and the future than the past. She knew that. And her mind obligingly presented her with an image - Kristoff singing that lullaby to a baby. Or maybe to an older child, as he tucked the blankets around them, and then he’d look at his wife and smile -

Anna turned her face away - she knew she was blushing. Now she remembered long ago asking a nursemaid where babies came from, and being given a confusing story about storks and cabbage patches and parcels sent directly from Heaven by God Himself. Now she was here in the warm soft lantern glow with her husband, and when she looked up he was watching her. He’d nearly kissed her in the vegetable patch earlier, she was sure. Not too far from the cabbages. The thought made her laugh and she swallowed it in a yawn.

“You should go back to bed,” Kristoff said. He’d put his hat down, and the kittens had escaped; one was sitting on his foot.

“I’m not tired,” Anna said, sitting up straighter. “I couldn’t sleep, actually.”

“Really? I thought I was working you hard enough. Obviously not.”

“I’m surprised you can sleep out here at all.”

“I’m used to it.”

“It’s not fair. You work hard too.”

“I’m a man.”

“You’re a person.”

He smiled at her indignance. “Well, if we have a good harvest, maybe I can get some lumber.”

“Mr. Ogg said they’d help!”

“I can manage. I did the rest myself.”

“Mmhmm. Like you darned your own socks. A person can be too self-reliant.”

“What’s wrong with my house?”

“Nothing! Except -” Except we don’t have our own bedroom. No, she would never be bold enough to say that out loud, and now she was blushing again.

If he kisses me now, Anna thought, there’s no one to stop us. Every other person and animal within miles is sleeping. The thought made her heart thump in her chest, and she couldn’t think of anything to say to cover her embarrassment so instead she turned away, pretending she was watching one of the kittens.

She looked up when Kristoff put his hand on her left shoulder. “Anna,” he said, and ran his hand down her arm, stopping at her hand, raising it so that her ring shone in the light of the lantern. There was an ache in her chest when she met his gaze, and everything before this moment felt like a dream. The only thing that was real was right here and now, where all her choices had led her, to the perfect moment -

He kissed her. Anna knelt up, eager, and her slipper fell off and she caught her knee in her nightdress but Kristoff wrapped an arm round her waist and kissed her again. She still stumbled a little, and steadied herself with her arm on the floor; and then it only required Kristoff to make the smallest movement and they were lying on the blanket, side by side.

For a second they blinked at each other, his arm still round her waist, her hand on his shoulder. Then Anna pressed forward again, pulling herself towards him, kissing him with her whole body against his. She half-expected him to draw back, but he didn’t; instead he ran his hand up her back to her shoulders, holding her in place.

She felt giddy. There was no one to stop them and she didn’t want them to. Alright, maybe there was only a rough blanket over a dirt floor and whatever was in that sack Kristoff used as a pillow, maybe this wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured this, but -

But there was someone to stop them, and that was them. Kristoff pulled his lips from hers and rolled onto his back, exhaling deeply. He closed his eyes for a long second, then opened them and held out his arm. Anna hesitated.

“Come here,” he said. “You didn’t - do anything wrong. It’s just…”

Not like this, was what she knew he meant. As her heartbeat slowed back to normal, Anna realised she had a piece of straw poking her through the back of her nightdress, a kitten trying to climb her braid and a draught through a gap in the boards going places she wouldn’t care to mention. Much as she wished right now that her husband was slightly less considerate, he did have a point. She wriggled over to Kristoff and lay down with her head on his shoulder, smiling a little as she felt him pull the pointy straw off her back and throw it away.

He put his arm around her, his hand on her waist. Anna could hear his heart beating, feel his chest rise and fall with his breathing. It was so comfortable. 

She opened her eyes when Kristoff said “Hey. Anna. You don’t want to fall asleep out here.”

Maybe she did. “I‘m good.”

He opened his arm to release her. “Go to bed. It’s late.”

“You don’t want me to stay?”

He looked pained. “I want you to go to bed.”

So she left and went inside. But when she got into her bed, it somehow felt at once  both too small and too empty.

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

[lilacyennefer]

Cardigan

A/N: Ever since I heard the song ‘Cardigan’ by Taylor Swift I knew that I’m going to write a fic based on the song, so here it is now! I was working on this piece the whole weekend because I wanted it to be really good, I honestly don’t know if I succeeded because I’m truly insecure about this one. Feedback is always appreciated ♥️ (I do NOT own the song or the lyrics, all credit goes to the original authors)

WARNING: none, maybe just a mention of a sick mother

For Angel, you’re always going to be that one thing in life that he will regret forever.

You were high school lovers, but even after graduating, you stayed together.

Your parents knew each other, your mother had a flower shop in front of Felipe’s butcher shop, on the other side of the road, and your mother was best friends with Marisol, meaning you spent your whole childhood with the Reyes brothers.

You were in the same age as Angel, and from the very first moment you met as children, the two of you clicked.

The two of you went into the same classes, always sat next to each other, talked about everything, until one day something shifted between you two, and you started falling in love with each other.

After high school, neither of you went to college, you helped your mother out with her flower shop, she needed some help, and Angel was prospecting to the local MC.

You stayed together, until you didn’t.

Remembering back to the days when the two of you were so young, and so in love, when you were dancing under the streetlights in the middle of the night on the empty streets of Santo Padre, or when you parked your car somewhere to make out without getting disturbed.

Thinking back to these memories, you still feel how Angel’s hands were sneaking their way up under your sweatshirt.

But almost 10 years passed since that one night happened that changed everything.

You wanted to surprise Angel at the clubhouse, you knew there will be a party tonight, he mentioned it to you, but you weren’t sure about joining him, so you said maybe, you’ll show up.

Angel took this as a no, he knew you didn’t like parties that much, you always went just because of him.

Bishop gave prospect Angel some free time, and many beers later Angel found a woman in his lap who wasn’t you.

Was he too drunk to refuse the flirting of the beautiful woman sitting on his lap, or was he young and foolish? Thinking back, Angel still doesn’t know the answer to that.

But that night lives in both of your memories painfully vividly, when you stepped into the clubhouse looking for Angel, only to find him making out with another woman.

Angel didn’t see you at first, he only saw you when you threw a drink on both of them, making them gasp, Angel angrily looked for the person who soaked both of them in the alcoholic drink, only to find you standing in front of him, angry as ever.

“It’s over!” Is all you say as you storm outside of the clubhouse, Angel trying to catch up with you, but you were already in your car, driving away.

That was the last moment he saw you, since that night you left the town, and you only came back to visit your mother in secret.

Angel Reyes regrets a lots of things in his life, but his ultimate regret is letting you go, and fucking up his relationship with you.

He was convinced that your love was that king of love that happens only once in 20 lifetimes. He once talked about this with Coco, and his answer to Angel was that he was young, and he knew nothing.

But, he knew that every kiss of yours lingered like a tattoo kiss, reminding him of the matching tattoo you got with him after both of you turned 18.

Back then, it seemed like a good idea, you were so convinced that you’ll stay together forever, nothing ever will break the two of you apart, so one night you presented your idea to Angel, who was more than down to it.

Deciding what you wanted was a lot more difficult, it caused not one argument until you found the idea that you both liked.

Both of you wrote down each other’s initials, so you got an “A” tattooed on you with Angel’s handwriting, and Angel got the first letter of your first name with your handwriting.

It was small, but meaningful.

The past 10 years Angel couldn’t stop thinking about the what-ifs, his questions haunted him.

What if that night you came earlier, before he fucked it all up?

What if it was just the matter of time, until he fucked it up?

What if it never happened and the two of you were still together?

What if you were already married, and have children?

The thought of seeing you walking down the aisle in a white dress made Angel’s heart clench, knowing it will never happen.

At first, he tried to find you, he went to your mother’s flower shop every day to ask about you, but your mother sent Angel away every time, although her heart broke for both of you.

Your mother adored Angel, and Angel adored your mother. She was always supportive of your relationship with the biker, she always said that Angel looks at you like you created the whole universe, with such love and adoration that she never saw before.

But you were her daughter, so she protected you.

10 years.

So many things happened in 10 years.

You cursed Angel for a very long time after you left, completely heartbroken.

You didn’t understand how he could do this to you, when everything was perfect.

But maybe that was the problem, because in this world, perfection is rare, and when you find it, it won’t stay with you for long.

Especially not in the world where Angel lives in.

Now as you were driving back to Santo Padre, thinking about that you have to move back because your mother got sick and she can’t take care of the shop anymore, made your stomach drop unpleasantly.

You knew that it was just the matter of time until Angel will know that you’re back in town, either he will see you, or someone else will, and they’ll tell him.

With every inch of your body, you wanted to push your feelings away that you still feel for Angel.

He not only left a mark on your body with the tattoo, but also on your heart and soul. He was your first love, your only love for that matter, your best friend, and even dare to say that, your soulmate.

After arriving back to Santo Padre, you moved in with your mother, so you could help her with the housework, and the next day, you started your day in the shop, more nervous than you ever were.

With a dry throat, and a knot in your stomach, you parked your car in front of your mother’s shop.

You took a few deep, calming breaths, and looked around the street, it was early morning, so it wasn’t that busy yet.

Getting out of the car, your eyes unconsciously shifted to the butcher shop in front of you, making your heart drop when you saw an old man reading his morning news paper in front of the shop.

It’s like he could sense it, Felipe turned his head towards your direction, his eyes finding you.

You cursed when you saw Felipe looking at you, but you ignored him as you opened the shop, preparing yourself for a scold from your mother, since she still were friends with the oldest Reyes man.

It was now just the matter of time until Angel hears that you’re in town. You try to mentally prepare yourself for the conversation, you don’t know anything about him other than him now being a full patched member of the MC.

The first few hours in the shop were relaxed, some of your mom’s friends came in to ask how she was doing, but other than that it was all quiet.

Your back was turned against the door as you were placing some decorations on the wall when you heard the bell ring, signaling you that someone entered the shop.

“Just a second!” You say without turning back as you do some finishing touches on the decoration.

“Do you still like iced coffee?” You hear a deep voice that you know so much ask, making you turn in horror.

After Felipe saw you, he immediately called Angel, letting him that you’re in town.

Felipe always loved you, he thought you were a good influence on Angel, and the two of you made a perfect pair.

When Angel got the phone call, his heart dropped, and he knew he had to do something. The hopeless romantic in Angel, a part of him only you saw and he buried deep down after you left, hoped that you would get back together with him, but realistically Angel just wanted to see you, and apologize to you.

He had no excuses, but he knew that you deserved an apology at least.

So Angel got himself together, he took a shower, he put on his nicest shirt, and his special cologne that he only used rarely.

When you were younger, and you had an argument with Angel, the next day he always brought you your favourite iced coffee as a peace offering.

Angel hoped you still liked iced coffee as he was picking it up from your favourite place in town, then heading towards the flower shop.

You knew this moment would come, when you meet with Angel again after all those years, but you could never prepare for this moment.

Angel looked amazing, he aged like fine wine, he definitely looked a lot more mature than when you left him, but you still could feel his playful charm that you loved so much, what now was invisible under his nervousness.

“I do.” You nod, your voice is small.

Angel hesitantly steps closer to you, placing the cup of coffee down on the counter in front of you.

He was more nervous than he thought he would be, as he was looking at you, he suddenly forgot everything that he wanted to say.

“Y/N, look.” Angel sighs, he nervously shifts his weight on his legs “I don’t have any excuse about what happened. I know it’s late, but I want you to know that I’m really sorry what happened. I regret it every day of my life.”

You listen to his words, tearing up the old wounds, making your heart ache once again.

You’re silent for a while, not knowing what to say as you look at the man who used to mean the world to you.

“Here’s my phone number and address.” Angel says as he places a small paper next to your coffee “In case you want to talk.” And with that, he left the shop.

This is definitely not how Angel planned to see you again. During getting ready, and picking up the coffee for you, he prepared a full speech to you, telling everything he wanted in a few minutes. But when he saw you he froze, being more nervous than he ever was.

Once again, Angel cursed himself as he drove away from your shop, leaving you alone with your coffee.

You didn’t get a chance to say anything to Angel since he stormed out of the shop, leaving you speechless. You silently picked up the iced coffee, its smell bringing a smile to your lips from the old memories, when you were happy with Angel.

While sipping the coffee, you constantly stared at the piece of paper that was still on the counter where Angel left it. Finally picking the paper up it felt really heavy in your hand, the emotional weight of it sitting heavily on your soul.

Angel made his first move, and now it’s clearly your turn to decide what to do. So many happened during 10 years, so many changed, and so many stayed the same.

You were still hurt by what he did, but you weren't angry anymore, but you always avoided Angel because you were afraid of your feelings, afraid that you’ll get hurt again just by seeing him, and you didn’t want to put yourself through that. But you undeniably still had feelings for Angel, something that you could never get rid of, your mother always said that you were soulmates, and that’s why you could never truly get over him.

Making the decision that at least you should get the chance to talk to him, after closing the shop you picked up some food from a local restaurant, and headed towards the address that he gave you.

Parking your car in front of his house, you saw his bike parked there, signaling you that he’s at home, hopefully alone.

You nervously knock on his door, holding your breath as you wait for him to open the door, seconds later the door opens, finding yourself face to face with a very surprised Angel.

“Are you hungry?” You hold up the bag full of food “I figured we should talk.”

Angel nods, opening the door wilder, letting you step into his house.

“I brought our old favourites, I hope that’s okay.” You say nervously.

You look up at Angel, you can see the earlier nervousness on his face.

You take a deep breath and say “I think it's easier if we talk first.”

“I’m sorry—“ Angel starts, shaking his head.

“What happened that night?” You cut him off, not caring about the excuses.

Angel sighs as he drops his shoulders “I honestly don’t know. I had too many drinks and I fucked it up. I could blame it on the drinks, but I won’t. I don’t want to bullshit you. I fucked it up, and I regret it every fucking minute of my life.”

You silently watch him. You always knew when Angel lied, you don’t know how, but you could always feel when he’s not telling the truth. But right now, you can tell that he’s saying the truth, and he’s actually sorry for what happened.

“I believe you.”

Your words made Angel let out a loud sigh, making him feel like years and years of pain was lifted off his shoulders.

“Y/N.” Angel whispers your name “I need to know. I need to know if there’s still a chance.”

Angel couldn’t wait with his question, he knew it was risky, but the uncertainty was slowly killing him, and he already wasted a decade, he didn’t want to wait any longer.

“I’m honestly not sure, Angel.” You shake your head “Let’s just eat, talk, and see what happens, okay?” Angel nods “It’s more than I could hope for.”

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone's bed, You put me on and said I was your favorite.

Taglist: @gemini0410 @rosieposie0624 @blessedboo @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @mayans-sauce @mrsmarvelous1995 @phoenixhalliwell @rocketqueen @witching-hour @starrynite7114 @bellisperennis0

[lunarflux]

hwang hyunjin x reader

genre — angst!au

hookup to lover

suggested background music: (click the x)

note: i am so so sorry idk what happened with this one. i was listening to one song, and as my playlist changed, the storyline changed so i did a lot of tweaking to keep with the mood. i did my best to characterize a backstory for the mc x hyunjin lol i like to write about these "moments" that let the reader continue the story on their own, so i hope this is okay??

x

.

.

.

Hot water hit the back of your neck before trickling down the curves of your back.

No music, no distractions, but here in the steam, enveloped in a warmth akin to his, these were the only thoughts, combing through the air like water under lily pads.

Watching the remnants of bubbles sliding down your legs and onto the porcelain, you sighed through the fog.

He seemed to be all you could think of lately.

You two had known each other for years. Childhood dreams came and went, and the years spent apart from the other seemed like nothing. It was like you two always found your way back. Between the heartbreaks, he'd be there. After the storm was over, he'd be there like a flower waiting for sunlight.

After your first breakup, he appeared like the first night of pleasant dreams after a year of nightmares. Hyunjin was just always there until he wasn't. The spaces in between the time you shared were always spent with other people, almost like you two didn't know how to talk when someone else was around. The world you built was only made for him.

How many more days until your little daydream flitted away like the memories of yesterday morning? You couldn't remember lunch, but you remembered dinner and the after, sitting beside him as his eyes slowly closed, his temple hitting your shoulder.

You didn't dare remind him that he fell asleep intertwined with you in his sheets before slipping out in the morning.

The routine of falling in love with a romantic who wasn't yet ready for you became your weeknights, and it crept into the weekend. Sleeping next to your faux lover, using Monday mornings to figure out what exactly you two were - these were your weeks, and it continued throughout the years.

He wasn't your boyfriend - no, you coiled together, you spoke in a language made for your tongues alone, and when the night fell, all you could see were stars and the moonlight resting on his pillow, ever so intimately resting on his cheeks.

It was always a dreaded question.

What are we?

You never wanted to ask. The question frightened you - you couldn't imagine how much it terrified him. The thought of solidifying what you were to him seemed all too intimidating.

Although.

Maybe I do love him.

And again.

Do I love him?

Saying it out loud was the scariest part. Once it was said out loud, you couldn't take it back. It was there. It was truth. It was matter floating through the air, and it drifted away like a kite to the clouds.

Stepping out of the shower, the moments slowly came back.

Quietly locking his door with the spare key he left under the mat. Catching a taxi back to your small apartment. Falling asleep again on the couch before waking up just as the sun hit the horizon. Washing away the remnants of his scent - though, you could swear it was everywhere - in your hair, on your clothes, forever dancing over your skin like he could never be scrubbed away.

(1 new message - Hyunjin)

Why'd you leave?

You hated it when he did this. You hated him. And you loved him. You hated how he would call, and you couldn't resist saying yes. You hated how he'd say he could only fall asleep when it was next to you. You hated the way he looked at you.

You swore he looked at you like he loved you.

Tossing your phone back onto you bed, you went through the rest of your morning, hoping your next cup of coffee would bring the life back into your face.

Hyunjin always managed to reappear in your life whenever you finally forgot about him. It was like he was waiting. He only wanted you when you didn't belong to anyone else, and yet he never did enough to make you his.

Annoyed.

Aggravated.

Every heated emotion you could feel would course through your veins when you thought about him, yet you couldn't bring yourself to say no.

And you were only ever like that with him.

**

x

He knocked on your door at 3pm.

"Why'd you leave?" He recited straight from his text message, still left with no response on your phone.

You shrugged, letting him walk into your apartment without giving him an answer.

"Did I do something?" He grabbed your hand.

It was like something snapped. The button no one dared to press was suddenly slammed into, and everything came spilling out.

"Why do we only do this when you know I've moved on?" You said, spite glossing over your words almost like you wanted it to hurt. "You knew - you knew I'd finally gotten over my ex, and you called, like it was a routine, you knew I wasn't attached anymore. Why do we still do this?"

Hyunjin's grip on your hand was still steady. "I don't know what you want."

"Honestly, I don't either. Something... not this."

He always pulled you in so effortlessly. When Hyunjin hugged you, he would hold your face in his chest like he wanted you to hear his heart beating. He would nuzzle his face into your neck. It was never forceful, but it kept you still.

You leaned way, keeping him at a small distance. This was the first time he'd ever really seen you bare - no makeup, no filter, no effort to prove you were okay being his "maybe".

How many times can you fall in love with one person?

"Tell me what you want." Hyunjin spoke quietly.

He'd never had problems telling you how he felt about the others, girls who came and went. Superficial relationships that would be dedicated for a month and then no more.

"Tell me what to do - just talk to me."

"That's not something we do." You hissed. "We don't talk - we fuck, and you talk. About your hookups, your relationships, you just go on like it doesn't bother me." Backing away to the wall, you could feel your cheeks burn. "I hate it."

"Do you hate me?"

"Maybe I do." You nodded, you head hanging down. "I hate being this - this thing - this space you use when you need someone. I don't want to be the space between moments - I don't want to be the 'pause' between the girls you fall in love with"

Hyunjin almost looked satisfied with your response. This was the first time you'd gotten angry with him, and he knew it. He knew you held your tongue around him. He wasn't blind. He just wanted you to expose yourself to him. The intimacy was a step through the door, but it wasn't enough to make it home.

"I just - I want -"

Grabbing your shoulders firmly, Hyunjin made you look up at him, tears gripping your eyelashes.

"What do you want?"

The look in his eyes was the look of clarity. He asked this same question, but he had his own answer.

A small pur of a sigh, the motion letting the tears fall one by one. "I don't want to see you with anyone else."

He let you cry for a moment until your breaths were steady again. Stroking your cheek with his thumb, he kissed your forehead. His breath moved through your hair.

"I just want you to stay here." You whispered.

"Okay." He leaned into you, his hands on either side of the wall behind you. "I'll stay."

"But -"

"Whatever you want." Hyunjin's eyes were so close. "I'll stay here forever if you want me to."

"I don't understand."

"If I asked you to be with me when we first met, I thought you'd feel unfulfilled. We were so young, and we hadn't lived our lives yet. I would've been content to be with you until you said you didn't want me anymore. I wanted you to live and be done wandering until you were ready to just be mine and no one else's. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

The vague childhood jokes Hyunjin used to play on you began to replay themselves behind his words. The times he'd laugh and say "you should date him" - you hated it, but you understood.

"I had to learn how to love other people before I could love you - properly."

He loves me?

"That was the only kind of love you deserved - a proper, complete love. I've done what I needed to do. I made my mistakes, and I took the hard way out of my problems." Hyunjin kissed you sweetly, his lips moving slowly and carefully before pulling away. "I wanted to grow up, so I could love you properly." He rested his forehead on yours, his nose brushing against yours.

His hands gripped your hips firmly before he backed away, letting you see his face clearly.

"Are you ready for me?"

[olderthanthemorning]

champagne (peter parker)

pairing: peter parker x reader

summary: was the bottle of champagne a going away present or a plead to stay?

wc: 1.4k

warnings: alcohol (no drinking but like intention to drink?), one curse word

a/n: hey y'all ! this is based on the song "champagne" from in the heights. i really love the song, it's so beautiful and climactic but also really sad so i tried to turn it into something! as always, please send me stuff like feedback and requests!

your best friend. he was your best friend and now he was going to go work at stark industries, just like you guys always talked about. you were so proud of peter for getting that internship with tony stark, and you knew how excited he was for it, so why did your heart sink whenever you thought about it? childhood best friends did separate things all the time, what was one summer of peter in another city? it's not like it was one of the last summers you guys had together before real life took over. it's not like you had been waiting all year to spend this summer together and had made a list of things to do. it wasn't like that at all. except it was. but regardless of how it was, you had to be the person that supported him, because you knew he would've done the same to you. so there you stood, outside his place with a bottle of cheap champagne you had gotten your cousin to buy for you. you practiced your most genuine small once more and knocked, hearing shuffling inside.

the door swung open to reveal peter, with disheveled hair and a t-shirt that was just a little bit too small. he smiled at you. "is that the science fair t-shirt from freshman year?" he looked down at the ratty shirt, like he forgot he was wearing something that fit him like a tight crop top. "oh yeah..." he chuckled, "you know when you're packing and you can't decide if you should bring something so you try it on to see if you could picture yourself wearing it? i guess i got carried away." you walked past him into his apartment, looking around at your second home. "while it makes your muscles look huge, i'm not sure that will follow an engineering internship's dress code," you turn back to him so you can admire the smile he offered to your joke. you were careful to keep the bottle out of his line of vision, "I brought you something," you wiggled your eyebrows. "got any plans for the rest of the night?"

"just finishing my packing, i have an early morning tomorrow." he pulled his tiny shirt off and reached for another that was sitting on a box.

"come on, be done. it's your last night." you watched as he pulled the new, fitting, t-shirt over his head and down his torso.

"i know, but..."

"peter, please? you owe me one date before you go." he blushed and his eyes widened. peter had always been a bashful kid, you could remember an incident in elementary school when the woman serving them lunch had called him sugar, and he turned as pink as his strawberry milk.

"um yeah, yeah okay."

you revealed the bottle from behind your back, "to officially celebrate you. i thought it'd be very grown up of us. it's a little cheesy in hindsight i guess." you handed it to him.

"no," peter said a little too quickly, "thank you. i'm gonna open it."

"you're going to have so much fun this summer. it's just like we used to dream about, inventing things. and with tony stark? that's huge peter."

he chuckled nervously, "yeah, i'm lucky i was accepted. it will be good experience." he was focused on trying to get the foil off the neck of the bottle that was covered in condensation.

"lucky? don't pretend it was luck that got you that," peter's eyes shot to yours, "it's obvious why stark thought you were special." he looked down at the bottle again, moving slowly as to listen to what you might say next. "you're the smartest kid in our class, and the smartest person i know, which is saying something because i know myself." peter exhaled, and you got the feeling he had been holding that breath in for a few seconds.

"i just can't get this stupid thing open," his hands grabbed at the cork.

"here, let me help," you reached out your hand to take the bottle.

"no i got it, i can do it," his words came out harsh, but not in an angry way, in a desperate way. like he was trying to convince himself and not you.

"hey, it's okay," you placed your hands over his as they finally stilled.

"i'm just scared. what if i let someone down?" you realized how tired peter looked, and you suddenly felt bad for pestering him into plans. "what if i can't do my job well and i disappoint everyone?" you were slightly confused about why peter thought his unpaid internship was so high stakes, but when you saw how anxious you looked you pushed it aside. you pulled the champagne completely from his grasp and placed it on the table. then you returned to him and pulled a chair next to his, putting one arm around one of his shoulders and placing your chin on the other.

"that's not going to happen, peter. i know i said you're the smartest person i know, and you are. but more importantly, you're the most hardworking and passionate person i know. i've never seen you do anything half-assed." you both stayed silent for a few moments and listened to each other breathing, thinking about what to say next. "can i say something selfish?" you ask, your face still close to his, but not facing him.

"sure."

"don't go."

"what?" he turned towards you, prompting you to pull away from his shoulder and look at him.

"stay here. you could easily find an internship here, especially since you have iron man's recommendation."

"usually you have to work for someone before they write you a recommendation," he says, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"you know what i mean."

"no, i don't."

"i'm trying to say you don't need this crazy far away job yet. plenty of people don't get internships like that for another two years."

"you're working this summer too remember?" you can hear a slight change in tone in peter's voice. it went from ignorant confusion to growing frustration in his confusion.

"please, i'm working in manhattan. i'm living at home, you're moving away. it's our last summer together for god knows how long, and you're leaving." it was true. you also had an internship, but you knew that this wasn't about work, and you thought peter might know that too.

"i can't just quit now, mr. stark is counting on me. i told you." you started to wish you hadn't said anything. not only was peter leaving but now you're last conversation you two was going to be an argument.

"i know but–" he cut you off.

"you told me to take the opportunity, i don't know why you're mad at me!"

"i'm not mad, i just–" this time you stopped yourself. you weren't mad. you were hurt. you were disappointed, in yourself, both for not saying anything earlier, and for saying anything at all. you were sad. you were heartbroken. so you did what you thought might give you some closure. you felt your legs carry you straight in front of peter and you kissed him.

the world felt like it stopped. it wasn't like fireworks like the movies always said. because while it was a first kiss, it was a goodbye kiss. the moment your lips touched his, you knew it was just one more thing for him to take with him when he left. the kiss was practically perfect. peter's arms went around your waist in a gentle but reassuring way. it wasn't hungry or lustful, it was textbook girl-gets-the-guy and they kiss in the rain at the end of the movie. it's like he had been waiting for you to do this. and it was all for nothing. you pulled away, after a beat you opened your eyes and met his, which were searching for an answer. "i'm just too late," you said, you tried to offer a small smile but you felt a lump form in your throat. you turned and walked towards the door. before turning the handle of the knob, you took a deep breath and looked back at him, your best friend. "i'm really proud of you peter," you waited a second and continued, "and i love you." you had both said these words before but now you both knew they meant something different. you closed the door behind you and walked down the hall, thinking about how peter would be saving the world this summer while you would be picking up the pieces to yours.

a/n part 2: ok so honestly i wrote this with a happy ending originally but i hated it so much so i stuck with angst. sorry about it. anyway, happy summer y'all. see you when i see you.

[sisterspooky1013]

As Ethan Sees It

Author:SisterSpooky1013

Rating: Mature

Words: 3698

Read it on AO3 Here

Tagging @today-in-fic

The first thing I’d noticed about her was how self-assured she was, particularly in contrast to her diminutive stature. I’d been grabbing lunch at a local deli between classes and some high school kids were picking on a third boy who may have been a classmate. Everyone in line was just ignoring it, looking away, when this tiny redhead steps out of line and walks up to the tallest, bulkiest guy in the group and tells him to fuck off, in so many words. She barely reached his shoulder and was probably 100lbs soaking wet, but she had no problem standing up for the little guy. After I picked up my order, I noticed her sitting alone at a table near the window and asked if I could join her. She was hesitant, but agreed and listened politely while I told her how impressed I was by her bravado with those kids. That’s when I noticed the second thing about her; her incredible smile. It was like the first burst of sunlight over the horizon in the morning, blinding in its beauty. I introduced myself and learned that her name was Dana, and she had just moved to DC to accept a job with the FBI. We talked for so long I missed my class, but I didn’t care. I was fascinated by her. Aside from being strikingly beautiful with rich auburn hair and porcelain skin, her blue eyes some intoxicating shade of blue I had never seen before, she was also wickedly smart. She seemed to know about everything, any topic that came up she could speak to, and I learned more during that 90 minute conversation than I probably would have if I’d made it to class. She was a doctor, and a scientist, and even the way her voice sounded was enchanting to me, the S’s softly sibilant as they poured from her pouty pink lips. She had realized the time and stood suddenly to leave, and I was so flustered by our impromptu date ending so abruptly that I stupidly forgot to get her phone number. The sinking feeling in my gut when I realized this fact, right about the time her cab disappeared into a sea of other cabs, still ranks as one of the worst moments of my life.

I thought about her every single day for two weeks. I talked about her every single day for two weeks, until my roommates begged me to either figure out a way to get in touch with her, or shut the hell up. All I knew about her was her first name, that she had recently graduated from Stanford, and that she works at the FBI. First I tried calling the FBI and asking for Dana, but they had more than one Dana who worked there and were unwilling to let me try them one by one. Next I contacted Stanford and was able to have a list of the last two classes of graduates faxed to me. Thankfully, there was only one Dana on that list; Dana Scully. I called back to FBI headquarters and asked for Dana Scully, and the next thing I knew she was on the line, her sing-song voice saying “This is Dana Scully.” My mouth went dry, I forgot how to speak, how to breathe.

“Uh, um, hi, hello.”

“…Who is this?” Her tone was the one I’d heard her use with the high school bullies

“Uh, this is Ethan? From the deli, a couple weeks ago?”

“Ethan from the deli? The guy who’s getting his masters in journalism?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Oh! Hi! How…how did you get this number?”

“Well, I hope this isn’t too weird but I forgot to ask for your number and I remembered you said you worked at the FBI, so I kind of tracked you down.”

“Oh. That’s kind of sweet.”

I let out huge breath of relief.

“I’d really like to see you again, if you’re interested. It’s alright if not, I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least ask.”

She was quiet for a moment but he had a feeling she was smiling.

“I’d love to, Ethan. Do you have something to write with? I’ll give you my number.”

**********************************

The first real date we had, I took her to a fancy Italian place that my buddies said was sufficiently romantic. She let me pick her up at her apartment in Georgetown and when she answered the door, I nearly passed out. She had on a strapless blue cocktail dress and tall black heels, her hair down and soft around her face. Her lips were red and plump and I wanted to kiss her right then, but I knew it was too soon. I held doors for her and watched closely for her reaction, unsure if she was the kind of woman who found chivalry insulting, but she seemed to appreciate it. She was so petite and delicate, like a beautiful bird, but also had this incredible air of confidence that made her so captivating. I was careful not to outright stare at her, so I didn’t make her uncomfortable. She told me more about herself as we ate, what she had studied in school and the things she was doing now at the FBI academy, working in forensics. She asked me about my school and my plans for after graduation, and she really listened when I talked, asking thoughtful questions and wanting to learn more about journalism and broadcasting, so eager to know as much as possible about everything she could. I told some stupid joke, and she laughed, and I think that’s when I fell in love with her. That laugh worked its way into my bones, vibrated in my blood stream and sent a shiver down my spine. I had to imagine that the only reason she was single was that she was so new to the area, because a woman like this was never single for long. I didn’t want the night to end, so I asked her out to drinks afterward and to my delighted surprise she suggested that we have them back at her place. I didn’t want to assume anything, so I didn’t make a move, just talked with her more on her sofa, learned about her family and her childhood as an army brat, her love of reading and bubble baths, her fondness for children and animals. When she leaned in and kissed me, I thought that I may be hallucinating. Maybe I was having an intensely long, lucid dream. How did someone like Dana Scully cross my path of all the places on earth she might have been, and how did I have the nerve to approach her, and how was she interested in me, and how was it possible that right then she had her tongue in my mouth on her sofa?

We didn’t have sex that first night, but it wasn’t too long before we did. And it wasn’t too long after that that we decided to be exclusive, and 6 months later that I told her that I loved her. Two weeks after that, she said it back, and for two years, we were happy. It’s typically the case that when you’re newly in love with someone you have that divine infatuation that makes you see everything about them as perfect, but over time it wears off and the things that were once cute become annoying. That never happened with Dana. I was obsessed with her, everything she did was the most incredible thing a human could accomplish or be. Aside from the megawatt smile and musical laugh, she had this sweet little beauty mark on her lip that I loved to kiss. She was witty and skilled at debate, and we’d spend evenings arguing over something like the moon landing conspiracy before fucking like animals over the back of the couch. And the sex. Oh my god the sex. She was an absolute vixen in the way she played, teased, and ultimately delivered on every promise she made, and she would smile in this self-satisfied way when she came, looking me right in the eye like she’d tricked me out of my last dollar. She could be dominant, or dismissive, sometimes one then the other in the same night. She could be anything and everything, and she was.

I loved to hear her talk about her work and new assignments she was getting, and I was so proud of her and her goals and dreams. I wanted to be right beside her as she climbed the ranks at the bureau, and knew that she would be anything she set her mind to. She was equally supportive of me as I graduated and then worked my way up at a local broadcasting company with dreams of being a news anchor. She made me feel important and worthy, showed interest in the things that I cared about and was so loyal to me that she cussed out one of my friends for making jokes at my expense. We never moved in together technically (her choice) but we slept together at one or the other’s apartment every night, rented a movie every Friday, had dinner with her parents every Sunday. Her sister, who she was close to, seemed to like me okay, and her friend Ellen confided in me that she thought I should propose soon, that Dana was ready for that step. I picked out a ring, a slender gold band with a princess cut solitaire, only half a karat because I knew she didn’t like to be flashy, and hid it in my sock drawer. Our anniversary was coming up on March 23 and I decided to do it then, which was a little ways away, but I wanted it to be perfect.

For her birthday, I took her out to dinner and she had exciting news to share. She’d been offered an assignment with an obscure unit at the FBI, requested specifically by Section Chief Blevins for her background as a scientist. I didn’t fully understand what the unit did or why they’d want Dana for it, but it was something about unsolved mysteries, by the sound of it. She was so happy and felt like this was a great sign, her big break, the fact that Blevins even knew she existed and wanted her on this team was an indication of the reputation she was building for herself there. I bought a bottle of champagne, told her how proud I was and that I couldn’t wait to hear more about it. She let me know there would be travel, it was a field agent role, and that she’d be on the road sometimes. As much as I didn’t look forward to being away from her, I couldn’t help but share her excitement at this new step in her career. That night we had the most incredible birthday/promotion sex you could imagine. I made her come three times before she finally tapped out and told me how much she loved me, and how excited she was for the rest of our lives together, how much she appreciated that I understood that her career was important, and that I supported her. If we would have been at my place, I would have grabbed the ring and proposed to her right then, but we were at hers. So I just kissed her and told her that I was the luckiest man on earth because I had the opportunity to be her partner in life.

The first day of her new assignment, she was nervous. She’d heard some stories about the agent she was going to be working with, her partner, a guy named Mulder. He sounded like somewhat of an oddball, and a ladies man to boot. I made a joke about him staying away from my woman and she rolled her eyes, had me help her choose between the plaid suit or the maroon one, kissed me goodbye and told me that she loved me and I didn’t need to worry about this or any other male agent, or male person for that matter, stealing her away. That afternoon at the station I got a message from her saying that she had to fly out to Oregon for a case they were investigating, which caught me by surprise. She had said she’d be on the road, but I didn’t expect it to happen that fast. I heard from her only once in the three days she was gone, and when she came back, she was different.

It’s hard to explain in what way she changed. She was distracted, spacey, staring into nothing when we watched TV in the evening, not really listening to what I was saying when I told her about my day. She told me a little bit about the work she was doing, but she was suddenly guarded and defensive about what she did all day, most of her sentences starting with “Mulder says...” The phone would ring at odd times, she worked late or was out of town almost constantly. I felt her slipping away. I did all I could to make things easy for her when she was home. I did all the cleaning, all her laundry. I cooked her dinner each night, though half the time she would say that she had already eaten with Mulder. She didn’t seem as interested in kissing or sex, but she would let me go down on her and I did, every night, trying to hold on to her attention and her affection with my tongue on her clit. I tried to talk to her, to ask her what was wrong, if I should be doing anything differently, and she’d say “no, of course not. Everything’s fine, I’m just tired.”

Then it was our anniversary, and I made a reservation at the same place we’d gone to that very first time. I picked up flowers for her, dahlias which I knew she loved. I went by her apartment at the agreed upon time, but she didn’t answer the door. I used my key to enter and it was quiet and cold, no sign she’d been there anytime recently. I called her office at work and Mulder answered, said she was up at Quantico performing an autopsy and could he take a message. I just hung up the phone. I went to bed at her place, and when she finally crawled in at 3am she was startled to find me there. The way she looked at me made me feel like she’d forgotten I existed, and I didn’t even bother to remind her that it was our anniversary. I decided to start fresh the next morning, with a new plan. Maybe I was being too demanding, expecting too much. Maybe this Mulder was difficult to work with and she didn’t want to bother me with horror stories. I would just have to be the most supportive, accommodating, wonderful boyfriend possible, and we could come through this together. When I woke up, she was still snoring softly beside me. I slipped my head under the covers and pushed her legs open gently, sliding her nightgown up over her hips. She stirred and moaned as I pressed my lips to her clit, kissing her there before beginning to lap at her labia, two fingers sliding inside just how she liked it. She responded readily, flexing her hips and pushing her hands into my hair, and I flipped the blankets off my head so I could see her face. I loved the way she liked to watch me, to hold my eye as she went over the edge, so intensely intimate. To my disappointment, her eyes were closed, head back against the pillow. When she came, she didn’t look at me, didn’t say anything. I crawled back up to lie beside her and when her eyes met mine they were so full of sadness it sent me into a panic.

“Dana, what’s wrong?” I implored, seeing tears welling under her blue irises.

She shook her head and scooted up so that she was sitting with her back against the headboard.

“Ethan-“ her voice caught under a sob that she quickly swallowed down.

My stomach dropped. No, this can not be happening.

“Ethan” she began again. “I care about you so much.” Tears were falling now, trailing down her alabaster cheeks and dripping off of her angular chin. “I just don’t think I can give you what you need right now.”

My mind was racing, I looked around the room like there might be something, or someone, who could help me.

“I think it might be best if we took a break for a bit. Took some space from each other.”

I sat up on my knees and grabbed her arm, suddenly regretful that I had chosen to sleep naked.

“Dana, what are you talking about? We don’t need space. I don’t need space from you!”

She closed her eyes. “Ethan, it’s not fair to you. I can’t be available to you right now. My new assignment, I’m just so busy-“

“No, it’s okay, Dana. I know you work more now but I don’t mind, I’ll always be here when you come home. I support you, I support your work, you know that.”

Pulling her arm from my grasp, she stood and went to her dresser. Pulled on panties and then jeans before stripping off her nightgown and putting on a bra and sweater. “Ethan. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. It’s just not a good time for me, right now.”

“Is it that Mulder guy? Is he making moves on you?” I hated how desperate my voice sounded.

“No, Ethan. This has nothing to do with Mulder, he’s been nothing but professional. This is about me, and what I need right now. What I’m capable of. And I’m just not in a good place for a relationship, I’m sorry. I need some time.”

She was standing near her bedroom door, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She was ready to walk out.

“How much time? How much time do you need?”

She looked at the floor and whispered “I don’t know.”

I slid off the bed and went to her, dropped to my knees on the floor, wrapping my arms around her hips as I pressed the side of my head into her belly.

“Please don’t do this. We can work through it. I love you, I love you so much. I’ll do whatever you need, just tell me.” The humiliation of begging on my knees while nude makes my skin crawl to this day.

She put her hand on my head, petting my hair as she often did. I felt hot tears drip from her eyes and fall against my scalp. “What I need is for you to let me go” she finally said, and she sounded very sad but also very resolute.

“I’m going to go to my mothers for the day, and I’d like you to pack up the things you have here. You can leave your key on the table. I’ll call you soon, to see how you’re doing, okay?”

“Dana, no, I won’t let you go. Please let me try to make this better.” I clung to her like a child, physically keeping her from leaving me. She crouched down and kneeled in front of me, taking my face in her hands. She kissed me softly on the lips, once.

“You have been a wonderful boyfriend, Ethan. You have loved me so well. I don’t want you to think that this is your fault, okay? You are the best. I just can’t be with someone right now. I know you’ll be okay.”

She stood and walked out of her apartment, pausing once at the door to look back at me, naked and destroyed on the floor in her bedroom doorway, and then she was gone.

She didn’t call me, not in a day or a week or a month. She deleted me from her life like a file she no longer needed. I didn’t know how to explain to my friends what had happened, because I didn’t really know myself. I thought about her every day, ate at restaurants around her work and apartment hoping to catch sight of her, so we could chance a meeting and maybe she’d be willing to talk. When I finally did see her, it was at a sandwich shop a few blocks from the Hoover building. She walked in looking like…well an FBI agent. Now in a black, tailored skirt suit that fit her perfectly, her hair cut shorter and more styled, her heels tall and her posture confident. A man was with her, and my stomach turned at his hand on her back, the familiar way they stood close as they waited in line. He was remarkably tall with dark features, handsome in a kind of mysterious way. I wondered if that was Mulder, assumed that it was. They sat down and I watched her face, the intensity in her eyes and the curl at her lip, recognized the way her features danced as she talked about something she found interesting, the rapturous way she listened while her male counterpart spoke. I remembered when she used to look at me that way. She must have felt my eyes on her because she looked at me suddenly, registering surprise and then sadness, offering me a tiny wave as the man turned to see who she was looking at. I gathered the rest of my sandwich and chucked it in the trash can as I stalked out, suddenly having lost my appetite. I wanted to hate her, to be angry at her betrayal, her abandonment. I wanted to hate him, for taking her from me. All I could muster was the same hallow acceptance that I had my chance, and somehow let it slip away. I just hope that he appreciates her smile as much as I do.

[yoonlattesworld]

Little kitten

Part:10

Hybrid au

Click here to open Yoongi's Masterlist

Main Masterlist

*here i present you little koo to bless your soul*

Summary: This story is about a cat hybrid who has been homeschooled for the most of her life because of her parents,so what happens when she goes to school for the first time and meets someone who changes her life and reveals many secrets of her life?

Author's pov

The next morning y/n woke up feeling giddy and excited. She giggled for no reason and quickly did her morning routine. After eating her breakfast,she skipped towards the door leaving the maids confused at the sudden change. She saw mr song standing outside and immediately greated him with a bright smile "ajusshi! Good morning!" He smiled back saying"good morning little miss why didn't you called me yesterday after reaching home? I was really worried so i had to call the telephone and a maid told me that you reached home" "oops hehe i forgot sorry!" She said giggling and he was confused as to why she was behaving like this but didn't asked anything. She sat inside the car and he started driving towards the school when she suddenly remembered something "oh! Ajusshi how is the baby? Is the baby alright? And what about mina unnie? Is she fine?" He chuckled at the sudden questions and answered "yes little miss they are both fine and healthy and mina gave birth to a baby boy! And he looks just like his father" she smiled widely and nodded "that's great! Congratulations ajusshi!" "Thank you little miss" he said smiling. They reached her school and she got out of the car suddenly feeling very nervous. 

She took a deep breath and started walking inside. Walking forward her eyes widened when she saw yoongi standing there leaning on a piller. He looked up smelling the sweet scent that gave him comfort and smirked towards her. She immediately blushed and looked down. She started walking forward and stopped before him still not looking up. "Why aren't you looking at me kitten"he said in a deep voice and  she blushed more hearing what he called her. Shyly looking up at him she smiled sweetly which made his eyes more soft. She just made him so soft and he isn't even complaining. "C'mon" holding her soft small hand he started walking towards their first class. He glared at every one who looked at them. Reaching the class they sat on there usual seat and he still hasn't let her hand go. "Yoongi" she called him softly and he looked at her fondly. She pointed at there intertwined hands while blushing. "Oh" he let her hand go and took her books out avoiding eye contact with him. The whole lecture he kept looking at her with the fondest eyes. And when the lecture was finished,he walked her to her next class and stood outside her class when it was the time for the first lunch break.

He took her to there usual spot where the boys immediately gave Him teasing smiles and he glared at them playfully while y/n looked embarassed . While eating lunch, she asked them something "hey guys can i ask how did you all met? All you all childhood friends?" This was something she was curious about since the first time she met them but was just too shy to ask. They all looked at each other and then at her and taehyung was the first one to speak "you can say that we are kind of childhood friends as we were all made in the same lab except for yoongi hyung. He was made in a different lab." "Lab?" She asked him confused. This time jimin nodded "mmm we were made in a  lab.  We were experiments for those people but we managed to escape from there" they all didn't really liked talking about there past but they trust y/n and she was also one of them. Her head suddenly started aching a little but she ignored it and continue listening to them"Yoongi was in a different lab and we met him after some years. He was adopted by a rich family" namjoon said. "Oh" y/n nodded and looked at yoongi to see him playing with his food. She was going to ask him what's wrong but stopped,hearing something that made her eyes wide "you remember how they used to inject different types of liquid in us? God i didn't even knew what those were"jungkook that while shaking his head while others nodded in agreement.

Y/n suddenly felt a shooting pain in her head which made her whimper in pain. All the memories from the past which she had forgotten came flooding back . Yoongi immediately looked at her alarmed and the others also looked concerned. "Hey y/n what's wrong? Kitten,look at me " he cupped her face and looked at her "what's wrong?" She put her hands on yoongi's and mumbled slowly "s...scary..." "What's scary kitten?" "B...big lab.....they are hurting me..."she said still whimpering. Yoongi's eyes widened and he asked her more "what lab y/n? Who is hurting you?" "Scary people! They took me away from you! T... they hurt you too.."  she started crying at the end of the sentence and everyone looked confused while yoongi took a sharp breath and said "do you remember anything else?" She nodded and tried to form a sentence"t..there was a..a man.....a tall m..man. he always took me t..to a room and g....gave me an injection. I don't like injection! B...but he didn't listen to me and sometimes h..he beat me and s..slap me when I don't take the m.. medicine" now she was crying harder because of all those memories. Yoongi took a shaky breath and mumbled"i knew it" he took her in his arms and hugged her tightly as if to hide her from the whole world While she buried her face in his chest still crying and gripping his hoodie tightly. "I missed you so much" yoongi mumbled and others looked more confused. They were thinking the same thing 'what the hell is happening?'. Yoongi was still hugging her tightly while namjoon finally decided to ask"guys? What is happening can you both fill us in too? And what did you knew yoongi?" 

Yoongi finally pulled back a bit and cupped her face again and wiped her tears softly. He sighed and put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead softly lingering  there for a moment then pulling away,He looked at all the boys and told them something that leaved them shocked (jungshook) "y/n is the girl who was in the lab with me at that time" they all looked at him and then at her with there mouth wide open while y/n was still shaking because of fear and sniffling while hiding her face in yoongi's chest. "Wha-" "what the hell?" "What are you talking about?!" "What the fuck?!?" "Wait really??" They all shouted at the same time and yoongi huffed while y/n looked (peaked) at them still hiding. "Yes really. You remember i told you that there was a little girl with me too but they took her somewhere?" They all nodded, yoongi never really talked about his past to anyone but this was something he told them,That there was a girl with him too but after those people took her away he never saw her again. Although he tried to find her but it was really hard. They often saw him spacing out looking at nothing in particular. "When i first smelled her scent when she entered the school,i thought this was my first smelling it but after some time i started feeling that her scent is familiar but i couldn't put my finger on it. Then i had a doubt when she told us about her parents and how she didn't remembered anything." The guys nodded and yoongi tightened his grip on her. So this was the reason that there feelings for each other deepened so quickly even though they met a few days ago. As they already shared a deep bond since years ago. That's why yoongi became attached to her so quickly.

The lunch break ended and everyone except yoongi and y/n went to there class happy that their friend finally found the person that he was looking for. And hoseok promised that he will cover for them in the class as the three of them had the same class.Yoongi looked down at her and gently scratched her white ear which caused her purr softly. He smiled and stood up taking her hand and started taking her somewhere "yoongi where are we going? The classes already started" she asked him curiously and he smiled at her with a "be patient kitten,you will know soon" she blushed a little and smiled back shyly. He took her to the rooftop as most of the students were already in the class,it was easy.

They reached the rooftop and he took her to the back so that even if any one came,they won't be able to see them. Y/n was standing against the wall and yoongi was in front of her. She was nervously fiddling her fingers not knowing what to do. And yoongi suddenly spoke almost making her jump "do you remember everything?" She nodded still not looking at him. "Look at me kitten"he mumbled and she nervously looked at him. "do you really remember me?" He asked again and she nodded again while muttering something"yoonie" he heard it clearly and laughed a breathy laugh "that's right kitten I'm your yoonie" she smiled at him and he looked at her pink pouty lips for a moment and  suddenly started walking towards her which made her walk backwards and her back hit the wall behind her while he came closer and put his hand on either side of her head trapping her in his arms. She looked at him wide eyes as he slowly leaned forward. He stopped when his lips were hovering over hers, giving her some time if she didn't want it. But when she didn't moved he softly pressed his lips on hers while her eyes widened even more. But as he slowly started moving his lips on her soft ones,she relaxed a bit and tried to copy his movements and hesitantly kissed him back. His hands dropped to her small waist and he pulled her closer,while her hands found there place on his chest. He pressed her small body into his while still gripping her waist and her hands got squished between their bodies. They both kissed each other softly and slowly savoring the moment. And his one hand came to the back of her neck and he deepened the kiss slightly and a groan escaped from the back of his throat while she whimpered a bit. Then after what felt like hours,he pulled back breathing heavily while she was panting slightly. He pecked her lips one more time and She was blushing profusely when he pulled back and looked at her with a smirk .she couldn't even look at him. He leaned his head and connected there forehead and caressed her cheek with his thumb and his eyes softened seeing her lean into his touch. "Be my girlfriend kitten" her eyes widened and looked at him while asking"like they do in those k dramas?" And chuckled at her innocence and said "yes babygirl like they do in those k dramas" she looked down and he was worried that she doesn't want to but then "okay" she said in a small voice and he  laughed in joy while she giggled like a little girl. 

But then she suddenly looked at him worriedly and asked "w..will those people come back? What if they hurt you or me again?" His jaw clenched remembering how they used to hurt her and he decided that he will never let them take her away from him again. He can't loose her again not after he  finally found her. "No they won't come back. And even if they did,i won't let them hurt you. I won't let them take you away from me" "t.. then I won't let them hurt you too!" He smiled and said"alright then we will protect each other?" He laughed when she nodded furiously and hugged her burying his face in her neck smelling her sweet scent.

As they were in there own little bubble,they didn't knew that someone was already planning to separate them.

To be continued...

[apprentice-maliya]

soft and wounded and the night

pairing: asra/mali’ya cw: nightmares, amnesia word count: 3.4k song: solovey by go_a

In his dreams she’s always singing, though Mali’ya only hums.

I gathered the flowers, braided them into a wreath

She was facing him with her back in that memory, her attention to the sink while honey curls swayed gently under the green kerchief at every tilt of her head. 

She’d let hair down, he noticed. That was rare. Once, she’d told him it would always get in the way when she was working.

Her hands washed the dishes in circular motions, slow and careful not to let one slip. Alone in her thoughts, Mali’ya breathes out the songs of her childhood in soft whispers and Asra wonders, each time they meet there, in the empty boundary between memory and reality, how could he ever forget that silvery sound?

He had heard her talk in her native language before, when she wasn’t yet fluent in Vesuvian and the confusion in her mind came out of her lips with frustration and embarrassment; he remembered the words being harsh and intricate and mysterious when she spoke to her aunt, words that crashed one against the other and merged together in a way so foreign to him that Asra could never completely understand.

But when Mali’ya sang, nothing else mattered anymore. All things faded out, all worries and thoughts, all shapes and colours; washed away by songs she knew by heart. It was then, only then, that Venterrean forgot all about its hardness, maybe lost to the water running down the sink or still lingering in her mouth in words of unspoken terrors. 

Braided them into a wreath, the rue and the periwinkle flowers

Even after all that time, Asra could never really give a name to the feeling. He was sure, though, that there was nothing more enticing than the way Mali’ya’s voice would die out like candlelight.

After securing the last plate in the cupboard, Mali’ya turned to him with that indulgent smile of hers he so much loved. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” she asked with curiosity, thinking about the days he would overhear her from his booth on the other side of the backroom’s wall, her own bedroom at the time. “It’s not the loveliest song. Or language, even.”

Nightingale, nightingale, do not sing so early

Shaking his head no, Asra mirrored her smile from the kitchen table where he was sitting. “Actually,” he replied, lips up in a playful smirk, “It’s very, very lovely, if you ask me.”

Happiness was bright in the curve of her mouth as Mali’ya approached him, jade eyes dissolving for a moment into a line of thin golden lashes, pressed down in disagreement under her furrowed brows. He couldn’t help it. Instinctively, perhaps a bit too eagerly (but who was he to deny her?), the moment she made way between his parted legs to get closer and her hands ran up to cup his face, Asra leaned in to meet her touch.

Oh, how he’d missed this. The gentle palms, and the smallest hint of calluses on her fingertips; her thighs, too, which he held on to steadily, still so soft and welcoming as he remembered them. The scent of her freckled skin, something faintly floral, embracing him from every angle like a protection charm.

Carding her fingers through his hair in a way that it would give her free access, Mali’ya bent down to lay a kiss on his forehead. Her lips lingered there for a moment, as if unsure of what to do, and Asra tilted his head up to welcome what would come next.

So Mali’ya kissed him with no hesitation, her lips on his and his heart on a sleeve, the beats loud and attuned to hers, to the song her aura let out when their souls would meet.

It felt so right, it always did. It was the place to be. Always, forever, as long their bodies would last before turning to dust.

She smiled into the kiss and slowly began to pull away, while the smell of rain gathered gently around them. It was the same as when she enchanted her chamomile tea before going to bed, Asra recalled, hoping that the memories wouldn’t come back to devour her in her sleep; the same as when she found out about the kids, and healed the wounds on their knees with a simple ghosting of her fingertips. It was the smell of storms and worry, but she always looked hopeful when it rained.

I’ll stop soon, and you’ll be able to play outside again, she would tell Luz.

Asra wraps his arms around her. The song echoes,

My heart can’t feel good about this

Don’t go. Don’t go.

“Asra,” Mali’ya called, tender as ever. Any tinge of joy in her voice was gone already; and although she was trying to sound serene, and he couldn’t see the sadness in her eyes, he just knew it was there. He had learnt everything about her during the time they’d spent together; every gesture, every change in her behaviour when she would push aside what she truly wanted. And Asra knew this was for his sake alone, too. He’d been foolish to hope things could change; as if nothing could ever change, at last in his memories.

So he kept quiet.

Her hands were still caressing his nape when Mali’ya spoke again. “You have to wake up, love,” she murmured, returning his hug just as urgently.

She rarely called him that, Asra thought. Because she had grown up believing love was to be found in the little things, those unnoticeable acts of service towards the ones she cherished, Mali’ya had never been one for pet names or clamorous displays of affection. She would rather trust, offer, provide; pour her heart into everything she touched.

Love.

Four silly letters for one silly word. Asra still remembered a time before her in which it was just a meaningless concept he and Muriel did not dare to share with the world. But when she called him that, she made it sound like the poets had been right all along.

“You know you can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” He sounds like a whiny brat, of that much he’s aware. He holds her closer. Can’t they just go back to being kids? Can’t he make it right once and for all, can’t he make up for what he had destroyed with his own selfishness? Mali’ya squeezes her arms around him one last time.

In the distance, someone sings a song of longing and fear.

“Take care, love,” is her parting whisper.

Then Asra blinked and she was gone again, like smoke, bringing any trace of sunlight away with her. It was as if she’d never been there. As if he’d abandoned her once more. Shut her out. The one that had tiptoed so gently into his world, cradled his heart and soul in her hands asking nothing in return. She, Mali’ya, who was made of chopped roots and timid branches and radiated so much warmth he could drown in it. He’d taken her for granted from day one, apparently, because there was never a time in which she’d beg him to stay.

As though all strength had been drained from him, Asra leaned in on the table as the room dissolved around him, arms covering his face and fingers gripping his hair in a punishing hold because you killed her, Asra. You killed her and she’s never coming back. Never. And it’s all your fault.

It gets cold in the nightmare. The wind howls, scentless and cold, and this time the whiffs don’t carry any songs with them. Asra stays still. There are no tears he can cry; he dried them all a long ago, digging his hands until they bled on the black shores of the Lazaret.

If it hadn’t been for you, Mali’ya would still be alive. Breathing.

It took him but a second to put a face to the voice echoing in the void of his mind. It wasn’t like anything he had heard before, because now Mrs Heralia sounds angry, and disappointed, and her thick accent makes way among the words like it’s meant to stab him through his heart. And she would have all the reasons to do so.

Why did you leave, Asra? Why did you leave my niece alone? You promised you’d take care of her on my behalf. I entrusted her to you. Tell me, do you have any idea of what she must have gone through while you were away, warm and healthy and very much alive? Do you, Asra?

The voice was growing louder in his ears. Asra felt like his head was about to explode, but it was a blessing that his teacher wasn’t real, not physically there to make him stare into her soul and force him see all the hurt he’d caused to her only niece— The same he saw in his eyes every time he looked at himself in the mirror, a pretty wicked thing worn out by selfishness and anguish.

“I— I never wanted to— I thought she would—”

That she would come after you when you left? Oh, but do you know why she didn’t? Can’t you possibly imagine why she stayed?

Heralia let out a sigh, low and disappointed. Sharp. Asra could tell she was aiming for her killing blow.

Has she ever meant something to you more than a shadow that would follow you everywhere and console you in the dark?

Water gathered in Asra’s throat, setting it aflame as an apology fought its way out. He jumped up, forgetting about the chair he was sitting on; which, without making a single sound, fell quickly into the darkness rising at the edge of his consciousness.

No, he meant to tell his teacher. A last defence against the hatred dripping from her chin. She was more than that, so much more. But a choked sob came out instead, before another followed, and another, and another...

Suddenly he feels like a child again, out in the cold. Alone. Mrs Heralia has vanished, too, and in the wide, scary unknown around him that’s slowly drifting from pitch-black to candid shades of white, Asra feels it; death’s touch like ragged paper on his skin, passing him by, so his lungs are full of air again and his heart pumps louder in his chest. It could be heaven, just floating around aimlessly in pure light.

The first thing he hears is the familiar sound of cutlery clinking before him.

Asra opened his eyes, waking up to the small kitchenette on the shop’s first floor. Nothing had changed a bit since he came back from… Well, he couldn’t really remember. But small bouquets of dried herbs still hung above the stove, where the salamander was sleeping soundly, and familiar, colourful jars filled the cramped shelves.

Then he hears her. She’s singing, of course she is. She’s calling him back to her. And she must’ve been so close he thinks, maybe climbing up the stairs or folding some clothes in the other room, because her voice was all around him and he would have looked for her everywhere if only the kitchen hadn’t started spinning like crazy, merging colours and shapes and taking his breath away in heavy gasps—

In the end, like always, the dream takes over the memory too quickly to linger anymore. So Asra gives up. There’s no hope to win against his guilt, to pacify it once and for all. And he’s so tired. Tired of wishing for her to remember him. Or what they had. Her past, their past, the days spent together climbing trees and learning magic and holding hands. He’s tired of trying. 

Asra falls in the cold, again, curled up in the white nothingness around him. 

Take care, love.

That voice again. Just now, someone was calling out to him in the distance. But who? And from… where…?

All of sudden, memory and sleep parted from him. The cold, too, had disappeared. There was something warm and delicate holding his face, though he couldn’t tell what. It was soft and a bit rough around the edges, shaped like it was meant to be cradling him, and strangely enough, the air smelled like damp soil after a long night’s rain. His body felt heavier than before as well, out of his dream-like state, while his lungs still struggled to catch up with his frantic pants.

“Master? Can you hear me? I’m here, Master. You’re safe— Please, please wake up.”

A hand, that was it, carded through his bangs, pushing them aside so that his forehead could freshen up. As a matter of fact, he did feel a bit hot. Asra slowly cracked his eyes open to take in his surroundings.

He was in their bedroom. It was probably late night, or maybe early enough for the sun to rise. Not like he could tell. Fireflies swirled silently around him—no, not fireflies, but tiny spheres of light. Gentle hands cupped his face, thumbs slowly stroking his cheekbones.

A few inches above him, Mali’ya let out a long, relieved sigh. She was kneeling on the floor, probably feeling a little sore by now, nonetheless she smiled reassuringly in his direction. Her braids were messy, Asra noticed. A few golden strands curled on her cheeks, framing her eyes. How could anyone be so beautiful?

“It’s okay,” she murmured, a bit startled the moment their eyes interlocked. Asra couldn’t really see it, his vision hazy from the dream, but he knew of the hint of a blush that was about to spread on her face at the sudden realisation of their close, if intimate, proximity. Despite that, she didn’t pull away. If anything, Mali’ya’s aura grew warmer. “It was just a nightmare.”

Asra propped himself up on one elbow, but regretted it immediately. To leave him more space to move and stretch, her hands intertwined on her lap.

“’M sorry I woke you,” he blurted out, still fighting the remnants of sleep.

Mali’ya shook her head as to shush him, lips still up in the gentlest smile. “Don’t say that,” she coaxed him, but then she stopped, unsure, fidgety fingers playing with the hem of her nightgown. “Is there anything I can do? Like…”

Staring at her with an expectant look, Asra felt his heart flutter. He couldn’t help it, not with her being so thoughtful and sweet in her shyness.

“Like a cup of tea. Or I can brew you some chamomile, if you want, or...” Jade eyes pierced right through him like arrows from Cupid’s quiver, soft and sincere and always, always agonizing to stare into. “Would you like… a hug?” 

Asra sat up, fully awake now, smiling teasingly as he raised an eyebrow. “A hug. You sure make it sound important, do you?”

“You always hug me when I have nightmares,” Mali’ya replied, not taking any of his playful tone, although the red deepening on her cheeks said a lot about the embarrassment coming from his remark. “Fine,” she sighed, stumbling back up to walk to the kitchenette. “The tea will do.”

Asra chuckled. She’d never been comfortable with displays of affection, had she? Even before this whole mess it had taken her a while to step out her bubble and hold his hand just because, or kiss him on a whim, let alone anything like listening to her body when the words would fail them. And Asra had been happy, oh, so happy to witness the rewarding growth of her blooming confidence.

When he stepped into the small kitchen, Mali’ya was already crouched down beside the stove. She was saying something in a quiet whisper, looking apologetic, and a moment later she got up to pick a flower from the ones he’d brought her from the forest a couple of days ago, for her to dry. She knelt down again, offering a wild amaryllis to the salamander, and beamed.

“Thanks. And sorry for troubling you, little one.”

“He must have a soft spot for you,” Asra pointed out as he sat at the table. “I never seem to bribe him right.”

Mali’ya let out a small laugh, adjusting the teapot on the stove. “Oh, it’s not hard to please him. After all, everybody wants to be pampered once in a while.”

Resting his chin on the inside of his hand, Asra hummed quietly. “So do I get to be pampered, too?”

There is a thin line between this and mere selfishness, he thinks, but his heart speaks before his mind can catch up and properly elaborate his thoughts.

“Will you sing for me?”

Abruptly, Mali’ya stopped in her tracks, her hand coming down from the shelf where their cups rested. She didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry, I… I can’t think of any songs.”

I’m sorry I can’t remember.

Asra felt his heart sink in his chest. “No, it’s—”

“Do you… do you have any suggestions? They say you can make a song out of anything.”

She still wasn’t looking at him, now busying herself with the steam rising from the pot, but the resolve in her voice was strong as ever. From the moment she’d first woken up from her slumber, Mali’ya had made so much progress; she was curious, determined to learn and catch up to normalcy, and stopped at nothing. There was always a way with her. She’d always been like that.

“Master?” she called out to him, their mugs in hand, and Asra quickly snapped back to reality.

“You remember the song,” he started, carefully threading each word so as not to prompt one of her devastating headaches. “That I would sing to you when you couldn’t sleep? It’s been a while, though, you probably—”

“The one about the lovers and the nightingale. Yes,” Mali’ya cut in, gently pouring the tea in his cup before filling hers. She nodded, then handed him the honey jar. “I remember that.” A small smile that barely revealed her dimples curved up her lips as she blew on the infusion. “It’s one of my favourites.”

“Ah,” Asra said. Was it just a coincidence? That she liked the same song she once used to love? His attention returned to the mug before him. “Is it?”

“Of course. You said you heard it from a traveller, right?”

“Something like that.”

Mali’ya looked down, pondering something. A tea leaf floated in the greenish drink in her hands, its corners burned by the hot water it had been thrown into. She tentatively took a sip. “Were they native? From—where does the song come from?”

“Venterre. I translated it,” Asra explained, though it wasn’t exactly how things had gone. There had once been a time in which he had been the one asking her to share the secrets of her mother tongue. A request Mali’ya couldn’t refuse him, no matter the difficulty of those foreign sounds. “And yes, they grew up there... but left at a young age.”

Mali’ya closed her eyes for a moment, lost in thought. Hadn’t she been smiling in the while, Asra would’ve thought he’d said too much. So he did the same. “Something’s on your mind?”

“I was wondering, what does Venterrean sound like? I’ve never heard anybody speak it,” she confessed with a shrug, and took another sip from her cup. “Though I suppose it’s not the loveliest language.”

“It’s actually very, very lovely,” Asra replied.

Beyond the curtains the sun began to rise, idly bathing the kitchenette in its warm and golden light. Mali’ya still pondered something, chin on her palm as she looked over the window. And just like the first time they’d met, two strangers in the Market District fighting for their lives in their own way, Asra couldn’t stop looking at her as she glowed before his eyes, ethereal and strong and beautiful in the fiery red of dawn.

With a quick motion of his fingers he pinched the tip of her nose, causing Mali’ya to snap out of her train of thoughts. “I can teach you some words, if you so wish,” he suggested before taking a long sip, and lowering his gaze. “Although I must tell you, it’s not the easiest language either. It might take some time.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Mali’ya shook her head, a smile carefully concealed between her lips. “We have plenty.”

Nightingale, nightingale, do not sing so early My heart can’t feel good about this Nightingale, nightingale, what do I do now? I came to love him once—and cannot forget him.

[krreader]

BTS scenario → you as TXT’s older sister.

pairing: bts x reader ; txt x sister!reader fandom: bts ; txt warnings: language  genre: fluff ; crack word count: 1.7k+

a/n: suuuuch a guilty pleasure of mine to write stuff like that so thank you for requesting it bb! I hope you like it ♥

kim seokjin

Jin didn't have a lot of time for going out with friends anymore, unfortunately.

Even dinner was nowadays a luxury he could rarely afford, that's how little time he had on his hands.

But with TXT having debuted, Jin found himself more often than not spending a few hours with them at dinner, even if it was just a snack bar close by. What mattered the most was that he didn’t have to eat alone.

Soobin and him had formed quite a friendship over the last weeks. And tonight, the topic of siblings finally came up.

“My oldest sister is really talented. She's such a good dancer, you know? I used to train with her a lot before I auditioned.”

“Ah, really? You should introduce her to me, I could learn a few things from her,” Jin had chuckled.

The conversation had gone into such depths that Soobin actually really ended up giving Jin your number and Jin, after having had a few drinks too many, ended up texting you.

And the look on his face when he walked into the dance practice room three days later and found you standing there with a big smile on your face, because he had completely forgotten that he had invited you over to help him with his dancing.

“So.. are you ready, Kim Seokjin?”

He gulped down hard. 

That should be answer enough.

min yoongi

Yoongi was on his way up to the boss, currently scrolling through some app on his phone when you entered the elevator.

He immediately stood up straighter, something about you intimidated him greatly. And that wasn’t something that he could admit often.

Maybe it was your angry look or the fact that you looked hot as fuck, but whatever it was, he wasn't so cool anymore.

“You look angry,” he remarked.

“I am angry,” you replied, not pressing any other floor. Oh boy, Bang PD had a big storm coming, “People in this industry think they can use young artists for their own benefit. It's disgusting.”

“It's the idol industry, love.”

But calling you ‘love’ wasn't a good move. Not when you were already on the edge of smacking someone. 

You turned around and killed him with one look only, Yoongi quickly bowing a little as an apology.

“My brother worked so hard for this,” you said once you had turned around again, your voice now a little less audible, “He shouldn't be treated like this.”

Right! Yoongi thought he had seen you somewhere before, you were the sister of one of the TXT members! He didn't remember whose sister, but he knew you were a family member!

“Are you.. a lawyer then?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a card or something? You seem like you know what you're doing and I could use a lawyer like you.”

Smooth, Min Yoongi. Fucking smooth. Because you gave him that card, thinking he was only interested in your abilities, when the reality was that he was interested in much more than that.

jung hoseok

Hoseok had only recently started following TXT's private Instagram accounts.

Now, as he was on set and waiting for his make-up and hair to be done, he decided to look through who they were following, just out of curiosity.

And that's when he stumbled across your account.

The childhood pictures made him assume that you were the sister.. the older sister. The sister that grew up to be very very pretty and, from the looks of it, quite successful on her own.

“Do you think I'm too old to just randomly message a girl on Instagram?” Hoseok asked Jimin, who just snorted.

“Hyung.. you're Jung Hoseok. It doesn't matter what age you are, whoever it is that you're messaging will be over the moon.”

Maybe Jimin had over exaggerated a little, because you didn't respond to his message for an entire week.

Hoseok completely forgot that he even messaged you in the first place when you finally replied: “Hey, sorry. I wasn't sure if you were a fake account, so I had to ask my brother first. But how are you?”

Ah.. so that's why the TXT members weren't looking so fondly at him anymore. He wasn't sure if he'd be too happy if one of them messaged his older sister either.

kim namjoon

Namjoon would never purposefully listen in on a private conversation, but even though Kai was trying his hardest to talk quietly, Namjoon could still hear every word.

“I don't care, (Y/N), I don't care that you're my older sister, there is no way I'm going to walk up to my senior and ask him for his number just so I can give it to you! Do you know how embarrassing that is?!”

That made Namjoon chuckle and press himself closer against the wall. Now he wanted to know who you two were talking about.

“No, no, no! Don't tell mom, I'm..- ugh, you're so mean, this is exactly why Lea is my favorite sister and not you.”

Namjoon thought this was a funny and normal conversation that siblings had with each other, he didn't think anything more of it.

But oh boy, his face when Kai walked up to him that same day and told him about you and showed him pictures of you, Namjoon slowly started to realize that this conversation from before had actually been about him.

And he was flattered.

“Sure. Give it to her. I'd love to get to know her.”

From what he heard from before, you sure as hell were an interesting persona and he was so down for anyone that didn't fake their personality because they were famous.

park jimin

Jimin and you had been friends ever since Beomgyu had gotten accepted into BigHit and he had run into you at an office party a few years back.

But that was initially all it was.

Friendship.

It was only recently that things started to get a little out of hand.

One drink was all it took for you two to play truth or dare and well, the next thing you knew was that you woke up in his bed the next morning.

And instead of keeping it a secret, Jimin had decided to come clean to Beomgyu, who, of course, wasn't angry at his senior, but at you.

“Do you know what this looks like? You sleeping with him? It's as if you're doing this for my sake!”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, little brother, but not everything is about you. I like Jimin. It's as simple as that,” you shrugged.

And it's not like he could do anything to change that.

You were your own person and so was Jimin.

All he could do was stand there and watch as you two grew closer and closer.

And he didn't like it one bit.

kim taehyung

You usually stayed as far away from the industry as you possibly could.

Just because Yeonjun was now an idol, didn't mean you had to be in the spotlight too. He didn't even want you to be, he wanted to protect you from that, despite you being the older one.

Nevertheless, this was an important award show for him and while it was usually your parents being there to support him, they couldn't make it today. The thought alone that all of your brother's members would be cheered on by family except for Yeonjun was ultimately the reason that you decided to take the plunge and join him.

They were currently getting ready and you had come late, so you had missed the rest of the family members.

Not knowing where to go, you just decided to hang out in front of their green room and wait for your brother, especially because you still had to wish him good luck for his upcoming performance.

You were so focused on your phone that you didn't notice someone suddenly leaning against the wall next to you.

“Bang PD didn't say anything about a new intern.”

“That's because I'm not a new intern,” you said, still not looking up from your phone, “I'm also not a crazy fan, in case you were afraid of that. I'm Yeonjun's sister.”

“Ah.. I get why he's so secretive about you.”

When you looked up, you didn't flinch because of who it was. You just smiled a little as you noticed him biting down on his lip, his eyes traveling down to your own lips, “Are you flirting with me?”

“I'm trying, but it's not working, I think,” Taehyung chuckled.

“Ah, you're here!” Yeonjun said with a big smile, then bowed when he saw Taehyung, “Hyung?”

“Your 'hyung' is currently trying to ask me out,” you smirked.

“No, wait, I wasn't..-” but what was more offensive to Yeonjun? The fact that he was, or that he maybe wasn't, because why wouldn't he? You were pretty, intelligent and funny, “Okay, I was.”

“Uh.. well, I..-” your brother rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable about this situation, but you took pity on the poor guy and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Come on. Let's go to the stage together.”

Taehyung was a little disappointed then, but not for long. Because a day later, he got a message from Yeonjun with a phone number and: “I don't like this one bit, but she's my older sister so I have to do whatever she says. Please don't hurt her, hyung.”

Ah, so you were interested after all.

jeon jeongguk

It was so freaking early, nobody in their right state of mind should be up and working at this point.

But Jeongguk was walking, not quite awake yet, into the practice room and threw down his gym bag.

They had just started working on their newest choreography and he wanted to be one of the first to nail it.

He was just about to put on the song when someone walked in with two cups of coffee.

Someone he didn’t know.

“Here, drink this, it'll..- Oh!” your eyes widened, quickly bowing, “Sorry, wrong room.”

“Who are you?” Jeongguk narrowed his eyes at you, “Staff usually isn't working this early.”

“I'm.. not staff. I'm Taehyun's sister. He's practicing and I'm worried about him, so I stopped by before I have to go to work.”

Jeongguk looked at you for a moment, then he let out a laugh, “Boy, he's lucky to have you as his sister. I don't have anyone bringing me drinks and snacks in the morning because they're worried about me.”

The conversation didn't last any longer than that, you quickly made your way into the next practice room you could find where your brother was already dancing.

Jeongguk continued on with his day like he usually did.

The next morning, however, he was surprised to find a smoothie and a sandwich in front of the mirror with a piece of paper saying: “Eat and drink this. You'll need strength :)”

And he could have sworn that he had fallen in love right there and then.

[pretend-writer]

I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing (Sam Winchester x reader)

Summary: As Y/N gets seriously injured during a hunt, Sam realizes he should’ve told her how he really felt about her. 

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader

Title Reference: I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing x Aerosmith

Word Count: 1.5k words

Warning: mention of death, violence and injuries

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

Sam's pov;

She was the light of my life, the way she smiled always made me feel warm inside. Every time she entered the room, I swear the world froze. For as long as I remembered, I've been in love with Y/N.

We've been best friends since we were little kids, playing in the mud and pranking Dean together. We eventually went to school together, complaining that we barely had the same classes.

Dad would move around from town to town, sometimes even state to state because of his job; hunting. Her family would sometimes let Dean and I stay with them so we didn't have to change schools and move around all the time.

Y/N's family were our family friends for a long time, visiting each other from time to time whenever we'd be far away from each other. Loving us as much as she did, Y/N's mother made sure we all stayed in touch. Despite dad being busy constantly year round, she made sure she made time for me, Dean and Y/N to reunite.

So when Y/N proposed that she wanted to help the Winchesters and hunt, we weren't surprised at all. Honestly, I was more surprised that she never brought the idea up sooner.

Y/N was intrigued by the hunting life since she met us, talking to dad and helping him with research whenever she would come over. Dad loved that she loved hunting too, I knew he enjoyed her company and loved her like she was his own daughter.

Learning everything from dad, she probably knew more than us. There were multiple times where Y/N saved our asses during hunts. I appreciated every single second of the day she was with me.

But I always feared that one day our luck will run out. Or even worse, her luck will run out. I would hate the day where she would come back injured and there was nothing I could do to help her.

And then it happened.

It all happened quickly; Dean and I were in a different room when I heard her scream. The werewolf got her from behind while she wasn't looking, scratching her back and then running away as it heard our footsteps coming it's way.

When Dean and I rushed to find her in the room, I froze in place from shock. She laid silently on the ground, unconscious as blood dripped from her back onto the floor.

'Sammy!' Dean yelled at me, trying to get my attention as my mind went blank. He knew about my love for her, he figured out that I was panicking. 'I need you to focus for me.'

Nodding in response, I tried not to pay too much attention to what was happening. It was hard, seeing the woman that I loved so much in pain. I knew that I should've stayed with Y/N but I didn't and suddenly regret took over my mind.

Dean was so calm, carefully picking her up from the floor as he carried her to our Impala. The drive back to the car wasn't cheerful at all, not like always. Y/N would sing a song about the supernatural beings we hunted for that night, giggling and smiling as she finished her made-up song.

This time, I was holding back my tears as I played a whole bunch of scenarios in my head. I would look into the rear view mirror to check on her and all I could think of was how I never told her that I loved her.

We did everything we could to fix her up; cleaning up and sewing her wounds, giving her some antibiotics to make sure she doesn't get worse than it already was.

The more the time had passed, the more nervous I got for her. She made no sound, no movement and it scared me that she might not wake up.

I didn't know how much time had passed until Dean had came into her room to check on us. 'Sam, you're still here?'

'Of course.' I bit my lip, not taking my eyes off of Y/N.

'She'll wake up, I know it. You know how strong she is, I know she's fighting this.'

Slowly nodding, I replied to my brother. 'Yeah.'

I didn't know what else to say; I was mad that I couldn't protect her, angry at myself that I failed to save the person I loved so much. I've even promised her family I'd take good care of her, I knew that I let everyone down.

In my mind I told myself over and over, Y/N would be alright and she would wake up any minute. My heart shattered into pieces when I constantly doubt it that that might not happen.

I just needed her to wake up again, see her gorgeous smile that I loved so much and hug her tightly.

Dean had probably sensed that I was tired, upset and mad about what had happened to her. He rested his hand on my shoulder, 'I know how much you love her Sammy. Trust me, Y/N will wake up any minute. You know how stubborn she is.'

A light chuckle escaped my mouth, reminiscing all the times I've spent with Y/N. Her and Dean used to play fight when we were younger, Y/N refused to give up and continued to wrestle with my brother.

'I just miss her, a lot.' Y/N was the only thing that was on my mind, people say that you don't know what you have until it's gone. It was all true.

'Me too, buddy.'

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

Y/N's pov;

Feeling pain through my whole body, I gently opened my eyes. I couldn't grasp where I was at or what I had been doing prior to this. All I saw was Sam sitting next to me, top half of his body resting on my bed as he held my hand.

Lightly smiling to myself, I watched Sam sleeping soundly. It was cute how lightly he snored, for a little bit I forgot I was in so much pain.

'Y/N?' He groaned as he slowly woke up, lifting his head to check on me. As I squeezed his hand in response, a huge grin appeared on his face. 'You're awake.'

'I'm sorry I messed up for you guys. I didn't hear him coming at all, it happened so qui-'

'Don't apologize, ever.' Sam caressed his thumb over my hand, comforting me with worried eyes. 'I'm just so glad you're okay. I was honestly so scared.'

'Scared of what?'

Sam got quiet, he quickly let go of my hand and leaned against his seat. He seemed nervous, fidgety as if he regretted what he had said.

It was tough trying to figure out Sam; I didn't know to reassure him or leave him be. Despite being friends with Sam my entire life, there were more things I had to learn about him.

'I-I' He stumbled with his words, trying to gather his thoughts before he said anything more. 'Out of all the hunts, all our adventures, this had been the most afraid I've been.'

'I'm sorry, Sam.'

'No... I was scared that I lost you. That you'd never wake up, that I'd never see you again.'

My eyes widened, not expecting Sam to say these words. I've always loved him, more than a childhood friend, more than "the boy next door", more than anyone that I've known.

'You don't have to say anything. Just know, I love you. I'm so in love with you, Y/N.'

Somehow I didn't know what to say, despite knowing how I felt about him. Maybe I always thought that Sam and I weren't supposed to happen. I never thought the he'd feel the same way that I did, I've assumed he saw me like a sister just like Dean did.

'Well, can I say something?'

Sam slowly nodded whilst biting his lip. 'Uhm, yeah.'

'I've been in love with you, for so long I don't even remember the last time I wasn't.'

'R-really?' Sam's eyebrows rose, he still didn't believe it. Perhaps he thought the same thing; that I only saw him as a brother figure. ‘I would’ve never thought.’

‘Hah, surprise.’ I laughed nervously, it was hard to keep eye contact with him as I suddenly felt shy in front of him.

It was weird, feeling the way I felt even when I’ve known him all my life. I’ve shared everything with him from clothes to bed, we’ve told each other so many secrets together to a point where we know so much. Yet, this moment between Sam and I felt awkward but at the same time it was a relief that he finally knows how I felt about him.

Sam scooted his chair near my bed, grabbing onto my hand with small tears on his eyes. I didn’t notice that he was crying or why he was even crying. ‘Sammy, are you okay?’

He flashed a smile, the same cute grin that I loved since we were little kids. Even with tears in his eyes, his smiles were always genuine. 'Now I am.'