#after this night is over my bachelor’s thesis will be finished and i will walk into a forest and scream | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jalapeno-princess · 4 years

Text

Clandestine Meetings and Stolen Stares

Physics Professor Mark Tuan X Reader

Word Count: 9.9K (Damn it felt longer haha)

Genre: Angst, smut

Warnings: Rated 18+, unprotected sex, breast play, (nothing too explicit), cheating

Summary: It was your junior year in college and you couldn’t wait for it to be over with. You wanted nothing more than to graduate and get out of the hell hole that is college. All you really cared about was your education, your job, your friends and your family. However, that all changes the minute your eyes land on your indescribably handsome physics professor and what you thought was just a unreciprocated crush on the older man, turned in to more; so much more. (Sorry guys I don’t want to go too deep in the summary and give away the entire story so I’ll keep it at that)

A/N: Hey guys! Look at me claiming I won’t have time to write stories and throwing another one out there like nothing. This is apart of the song requests imagines and I do have quite a few of them so I will try get them out as soon as possible (I don’t want them to be too short or rushed so please be patient me and thank you again for your requests!) This was requested by one of my favorite followers @yup-indecisive-girl-cece thank you for all your love and support with my page and my stories! I hope you enjoy! (I wrote this in a few hours so there might be a few errors but eh whatever hahaha) Based on the song “Ilicit Affairs”. Honestly the album is a bop and I listened to it while writing this I actually plan on writing a few stories in the future about some of the songs off the album once I finish the requests. Happy reading!

“Y/n—earth to y/n. Hey! Is everything okay?”

If you could describe the current state of your mind, a mess wasn’t even half of what was going on up there. There were many different thoughts going on in your head; unfortunately they were all negative. You wouldn’t have even known you were tearing up if your best friend Yugyeom didn’t wave his hand in front of your face to break you out of your trance.

“Huh? Oh—yeah. I’m fine. It’s just—I’m just tired I guess. Finals are coming up and I’ve been pulling all-nighters almost every night so I’m pretty exhausted. But don’t worry about me. I’m okay.”

As much as you hated lying to the older boy, especially because he told you about every single thing that went on in his life, there was no way you could tell him the real reason why you were so distracted; why you were on the verge of breaking down in tears. He would never understand nor did you think he would want to continue your friendship if he were to know exactly what was clouding your thoughts.

Thankfully he didn’t continue to press for more questions and turned his focus back to the chocolate shake you purchased for him half an hour ago. If you were going to tell anyone what was causing you so much distress, you’d be in so much trouble and so would he. Feeling your phone vibrate against your lap made your breathe hitch because you knew exactly who it was.

The only two people who have been reaching out to you these days other than your parents to see how college overseas was going, was the outspoken yet gentle and child-like boy sitting in front of you and your physics professor Mark Tuan. He was the reason why you’ve been so uptight; so tense these last few days and unlike most of your classmates, you weren’t even nervous about any of your finals because most of your worries were caused by him.

When you signed up for Physics 345 with Professor Mark Tuan, you didn’t think anything of it. Since it was your junior year in college, all you were focused on was passing junior year with flying colors and concentrating on your last two semesters in college, working on your senior thesis and graduating on time. What you weren’t expecting, was getting in to an affair with said professor that would go on for longer than expected.

Everything going on in your life up until the point of meeting Mark for the first time was going pretty well. You and your friends were enjoying what was left of being college students; going clubbing on the weekends, having some drinks at the bar when school was getting rough, attending parties thrown by some of the most popular students in school and just hanging out at each other’s places when you all had free time.

You had a part time job at the library which you were extremely grateful for; you hardly had to do anything, it was always pretty quiet and you got to work on your assignments most of the time so it was a win-win situation. Although you missed your family every now and then, you had quite a bit on your plate to really feel homesick. Little did you know, that word would have a different meaning to it a few months later. Walking in to the auditorium, you weren’t surprised to see that you didn’t know anybody in your class.

Your campus was huge and from what you knew, none of your friends had any plans on failing a class so they all laughed in your face when you recommended it to them. If only you took Youngjae’s advice and signed up for Religion 315 like he did, you wouldn’t be in the mess you were in right now. But then again, you wouldn’t have met the man who changed your outlook on both life and love completely. You wouldn’t have met the man who now owned your stupid, stupid heart.

Since you were notorious for making it to class earlier than most students in order to get a good seat, you decided to play a few games on your phone before scrolling through social media. After getting bored on twitter, you pulled out one of your notebooks and started to prepare your notes when you heard heels clicking against the tiled floor.

You were never a believer in love at first sight. It was so cliche. How could someone be in love with someone just by looking at them and not knowing anything about them? There was no way and yet, when you took a look at your new science professor, you could physically feel your soul leaving your body. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it. In fact, that was an understatement.

He was gorgeous. You didn’t think young science professors existed let alone one that looked like he came straight out of vogue magazine. All your science teachers from high school had white hair, glasses and wore suspenders. This guy was wearing a red flannel over a plain black v-neck, torn skinny jeans and vans. There was no way he was your professor; but as soon as he placed his briefcase down on the desk and looked around the classroom with a stupidly handsome grin on his face, you knew you were fucked.

“Hello class, I’m Mark Tuan your physics professor. Please call me Mark. I’m fine with professor, but no Mr.Tuan. It makes me feel old. A little bit about me, this is my second year teaching physics. I graduated with my bachelor’s degree in physics, went on and got my master’s in teaching and graduated with my doctorate two years ago now here I am. I’m one of those weirdos who love science, I love learning more and more about science each and every day. I’m thirty-one years old, I’ve been married for three amazing years and I have a one-year-old daughter named Ella. We also have a dog named Milo. In my free time, I like to play video games and watch the office. Well, that’s it about me. There’s about forty-five of you in here, so it would probably take the entire class if you guys were to introduce yourselves individually so instead I’ll have you get in to groups and you guys can just talk amongst your peers.”

It was as if everything he said went through one ear and out the other. All you could pay attention to was his pretty pink lips and how soft they looked. You could also feel your heart flutter at the way he smiled when talking about his passion for science. However, hearing that he had a wife and a daughter brought a weird feeling to your chest but what did it matter? He was your science professor and this was only the first day you met him. You told yourself it was just his good looks that you were attracted to, but deep down you knew there was something else that got you thinking about him a little more than you should.

As your classmates went around in a circle talking about what major they were studying, why they signed up for physics and what they want to learn in the class, your eyes began to wander around the room in search of your professor and you hated that you didn’t know why. You’ve seen and even been with a decent amount of good looking guys. Your ex-boyfriend was actually considered to be one of the best looking guys in your university, so you had a hard time understanding why you couldn’t take your eyes off of Mark. As soon as you found him, you felt as if your heart was about to jump from out of your chest when you realized he was already looking at you.

You were sure if you were to look in a mirror, your face would be red from embarrassment. Was he watching you this entire time? Did he know you were practically ogling at him this entire time when you were supposed to be paying attention to your classmates? To both your delight and dismay, he sent you a flirtatious wink before making his way to your group. You felt like you were about to be sick. Feeling him stand behind you while placing his hands on the chair sent chills down your spine.

Why was he so close? And why did you want him closer? When he was talking to other groups, he stood a few inches away from them but right now he was in your personal space and you couldn’t help the thought of wanting him even closer.

“How are we doing here?” Your classmates hummed in content before they started going around and telling him their answers. “Okay, what about you? What’s your name, major, why you took this class and what you want to learn in this class.”

He pulled his hands away from your chair and walked towards the other side of the room to give you eye contact and offer you his full attention. You didn’t know what was worse; him standing directly behind you giving off his intimidating aura, or him looking at you while you were for sure about to make a fool out of yourself. To prevent yourself from looking like an idiot even more than you probably already did, you brought your attention to your notebook and pretended as if you were reading off from your notes.

“My name is y/n, I’m an English and communications double major with a minor in Spanish language. I—uh—I’m—shit I’m sorry what were the rest of the questions again?”

He looked at you in curiosity before letting out a soft giggle. This man was thirty-one years old, how was he capable of such an adorable, high pitched laugh? And how could you butcher that entire thing? You only needed to answer three questions with two of them relating to one another. You were sure you made your attraction even more obvious if he couldn’t already tell by the way you were practically drooling over him.

“What made you sign up for this class and what do you want to learn?”

You softly bit your lip out of frustration and took in a deep breath before responding. Once class was over, you were going straight to the bar and getting drunk. This was only day one, you had five months with Mark as your professor and you fucked it up in less than half an hour. He was probably going to go home and laugh at your little breakdown.

Although you had a feeling you weren’t the first to get flustered over him. If he’s been teaching for over two years, he had to have a few students that developed a crush on him. Surely you weren’t the only one. But that’s what it was and all it ever was going to be, a silly little crush. It was normal; Mark was handsome, he seemed very intelligent, very passionate about his field and was very energetic. He also seemed very child like and with the way he laughed at something you didn’t think was funny, you knew he was still a child at heart.

“I enjoy science, I think it’s one of those intimidating subjects that people are afraid to take because they’re afraid of failing. I will admit I’m not the best in science and I’m sure I’ll probably be shit at physics, but I love learning and I’ll do my best in this class. Or at least try to. I want to learn more about motion, movement and the relative entities of energy and force.”

The soft smile he gave you went straight to your chest; there was no way you’d be able to survive the rest of the semester if he were to continue looking at you like that. His wife was one lucky woman. What world war did she fight in her past life to land him as a husband?

“I like that answer y/n. I look forward to working with you this semester. I’m sure you’ll learn a lot about force and energy in this class and if you don’t end up doing too well, I listed my office hours on the syllabus. Feel free to stop by if and when you need help—and I mean this to all of you. Don’t be shy to ask me for help, I would rather spend a few grueling hours teaching you about Newton’s law than to have you fail my class entirely. Okay, for the remainder of class, I’ll be going over the syllabus and luckily the school provides the required textbook so you can all save an extra $200. I expect you all to use that wisely.”

There was a feeling in your gut telling you he meant more than what he was saying about his office hours, but then again you felt stupid for even thinking that. He was married for three years and he had a daughter. He was also ten years your senior and you didn’t think you were all that special for someone like Mark to look at you in that way.

He was your science professor and that’s all he was ever going to be to you. You knew exactly what you were going to do with that extra $200 once you were finished with school. Once class was over, you hastily packed away your things before making a beeline towards the door. Right as you were about to walk out, you heard Mark softly whisper your name.

“Have a nice rest of your day y/n, see you Thursday!”

Yeah, you were definitely getting plastered tonight. You didn’t even get to take five steps out of the classroom when you felt an arm roughly thrown around your shoulder.

“There‘s my favorite science nerd. How was the first day of hell huh? Only two semesters left.” You let out a hysterical chuckle; as much as you hated school and couldn’t wait to graduate, you weren’t quite ready to enter the real world just yet. However, feeling the effect that Mark had on you knowing that it was only the first day toyed with your mind a little bit. You kept telling yourself over and over that he was just being nice, but you didn’t hear him saying anything else to any of the other students.

Was he just picking on you specifically because of your little breakdown in his class? Your chances of passing physics with a grade higher than a C were already pretty slim, what more now that you had a Greek God as your professor? You were doomed. The first couple of weeks went by better than you had expected. Sure, there was some material that you had a hard time learning but you refused to schedule office hours with Mark. Being in a class with him surrounded by thirty other students was already extremely overwhelming, you didn’t even want to know what were to happen if you were alone with him. You’d probably have to drop off the face of the earth from embarrassing yourself tremendously.

A month later, you found yourself between a rock and a hard place. Physics only became more and more tough as the days went by and you cursed Mark for giving you so many difficult assignments. It’s as if he was taunting you. You did what you could first before you even thought about signing up to meet with him. Going to see Mark during his office hours was your last resort. First you reached out to a couple of your classmates; asking for them to explain the material to you but nothing worked.

They were all very kind in trying to help you, but you still couldn’t memorize nor understand the seven branches of physics. Then you went along with BamBam’s suggestion to go get tutored but just like your classmates, the tutor couldn’t even help you which is why you found yourself emailing Mark to schedule an appointment with him. His response made your eyes roll, but it also sent warmth to your heart and you hated yourself for not being able to learn it on your own from the few sources you had around you. On one of your days off, you made your way up to Mark’s office and gently knocked on the door; patiently waiting until he welcomed you in.

“Come inside.”

You hesitantly walked in and sat down on one of the chairs he had facing adjacent toward his desk. You began to look around the room and smiled to yourself at how much his office matched him as a person. It was simple, yet the few trinkets and bobble heads he had on the shelf made the room a little more lively.

“Took you a while to meet with me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your grades for a while now, so I’m glad you actually came in for help. Your test scores aren’t looking too good y/n.”

You released a long sigh; disappointed with the news but not surprised. Why did you think you were capable of such a complicated subject? Even some of the smartest students on your campus had a hard time with physics and you wouldn’t consider yourself dumb, but then again you weren’t the brightest bulb in the bunch.

“I know. I’m sorry, I should’ve came earlier. I just—I didn’t want to bother you. I tried asking for help from tutors and other students in the class but nothing worked, so here I am.”

He gazed at you with an unidentifiable look on his face and it made you nervous. You didn’t know exactly what it could have meant and the curiosity was eating away at you.

“You know y/n, I commend you on taking this class. I know you took it as an elective and I’m sorry it’s probably not what you expected it to be. I’ve been told I can go a little hard on students sometimes, but I’ve been trying to make the work a little more easier than it was last semester. I couldn’t help but take notice though, you do amazing when it comes to the homework. You ace the lessons like nothing, it’s just the quizzes and the exams you’re not doing too great with and it’s probably because you take it in class, with me in the room.”

Your eyes widened at his last few words but he gave you no time to ask what was on your tongue as he got up from his chair and sat directly in front of you on his table.

“Am I a distraction y/n? Don’t think I haven’t observed the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking. It’s actually cute by the way—sexier when you bite your lip though. I guess this is the time to admit that I do the exact same thing, although I’m more discreet about it than you are. I love knowing the effect I have on you; if only you knew the effect you have on me princess.”

Were you dreaming? You had to be, there was no way this was actually going on right now. There was no way Mark confronted you about drooling over him in class only to tell you that he’s been doing the exact same thing. What was going on? Was he messing with you? He had to be. Mark Tuan couldn’t have feelings for you—he had a family. And you—you were just a junior in college. His student to be exact; he had to be pulling your leg.

Yet the way he was looking at you, so seductively with a charismatic glint in his eye sent warmth to your core. The way he was looking at you as if he was a lion and you were his prey, ready to pounce on you did wonders to your body. You couldn’t describe the way Mark made you feel. The way he made you want to do better, the way you wanted to impress him and be someone he admired. The way you wanted to be the reason behind his contagious laughter and breathtaking smile.

There weren’t enough words to describe what Mark made you feel and when you felt his fingers grip your chin and tilt it upwards so that the two of you made eye contact, you were putty in his hands. As wrong is this all was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop.

“What are you doing to me y/n? I have a family whom I love dearly, but I can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve been on my mind every single day since the first day of school. I don’t know what is about you—well it’s obvious that you’re beautiful. Extremely beautiful y/n. But I’ve seen hundreds of beautiful women in my thirty-one years of living and I’ve never batted an eye at any of them. You were so flustered, so adorably clumsy on the first day but it was the eagerness, the enthusiasm you had in wanting to learn even if you may not be the best in science. You remind me a lot like myself when I was your age. You’re one of the most hard working and extremely intelligent students that I know. I—fuck. I’m aware that a few of my students have crushes on me in the last two years and I found it cute but that was it. They didn’t make me question the love I have for my wife and the status of my marriage the way you do. I really shouldn’t be saying things like this before knowing how you feel but I can’t help it. I like you y/n. I really like you and I know it’s wrong for so many reasons and please don’t feel like you have to reciprocate these feelings, please just don’t say anything.”

Your mouth was dry and didn’t know how to respond to his entire confession. It was still taking you a while to process the entire thing. Not once in your life would you have ever pictured yourself in a situation like this. No, things like this only happened in movies. To both of your surprises, you found yourself smashing your mouth against his, silencing any doubts that he had about your feelings for him. His lips were soft and gentle against yours, but the grip he now had on your hips was rough and intoxicating. It was hard to believe that for the last month, you’ve been dreaming about how his pretty lips would feel against yours not knowing that here you would be a year later, lying flat on your back on top of his desk while he left multiple kisses along your neck and chest.

“I—like you too—a lot—and if this is wrong—well fuck Mark I don’t want to be right.”

It was true; you knew having an affair with your professor was taboo and you knew what you were doing was terribly wrong, but you were just going to have to deal with the consequences later. Now, you were going to show the beautiful man in front of you just how crazy he’s been driving you over the last month. He smiled against the inside of your thigh and made his way up to your soaking entrance, blowing some hot air against your core before flicking at your clit with his tongue.

“Well, I’ll be your dirty little secret and you’ll be mine. Oh and by the way y/n, consider this a one on one lesson about energy, force, movement and motion. I’m going to drain you of all your energy, force my cock in to this pretty little pussy of yours, have you bounce on my dick like the professional cowgirl I’m sure you are and then I’ll bury myself balls deep inside of you while hitting it from the back. How does that sound?”

The wanton moan that fell from your lips at the sound of his naughty words made the coil that was already building in your stomach tighten. The two of you spent the rest of the day exploring and learning each other’s bodies. You didn’t think that it was possible to explore the many different positions that the two of you dabbled in while being in such an enclosed space but you weren’t complaining. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to come in here again without reminiscing on the way Mark had your breasts pressed up against the window while he roughly drilled himself in to you doggy style.

Once the two of you both came down from your highs, he took a couple of tissues from his desk and wiped you down. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before he went searching for your clothes that he greedily ripped off of you and flew across the room in a haste to finally get inside of you. His breathless moans and grunts, murmured curses, kinky and naughty words and the multiple compliments that fell from his lips while you were loving up on each other were now etched in to the back of your mind. As you watched him pull up his jeans, you felt a pang of hurt hit your chest.

What have you done? You just slept with your professor; a married man, it didn’t matter if he had feelings for you and that you reciprocated them, you shouldn’t have let your selfish desires and carnal urges take over. For all you knew, his poor wife who had no clue what just happened with you and her husband was sitting at home waiting for him to finish work, probably playing with their daughter and the image made you feel pathetic. You just allowed yourself to fool around with a little girl’s father. You could be the reason she grows up in a broken home because her mother found out about her father’s brief lapse of judgement.

However, you didn’t feel as much as remorse as you did your feelings for Mark and if he was okay with having an affair with you, than who were you to disagree? Over the next six months, you and Mark snuck around to fool around with one another. If he wasn’t blowing your back out in his office, he was taking you up against the fridge in your apartment or having you ride him in the backseat of your car. After your first time together, he set some ground rules. You weren’t able to text him unless he texted you first in fear of his wife seeing your messages; which turned in to emails instead because it was easier to tell you of how much he missed having his face in between your pretty titties and how much he loves the feeling of you clenching around him.

You also weren’t allow to mark him in any way which was a given, but that didn’t stop him from leaving a couple of love bites and hickeys around your body making it known that your bed was spoken for. He also didn’t want your affair to get in the way of your job or your studies, therefore he refused to meet up with you no matter how much he wanted to until you finished your work. You didn’t know how the two of you have been keeping this a secret for so long. You were no longer a student of his, but that didn’t stop you from attending his office hours.

Unfortunately, you made the mistake of falling in love with him less than three months in to your secret little rendezvous but it was hard not to. Sure, most of your relationship was spent making love with one another, but there were times that you got to see the real Mark. There were days where you actually went to see him for some help on your assignments and he would always be so patient and understanding with you. He would also reward you with kisses every time you got an answer right and it made you want to try even harder. Sometimes when he would come over to your place, the two of you wouldn’t even have sex.

You’d either cuddle and watch a movie together or bake something you saw on the food network. He was also pretty invested in the Xbox that you had and sometimes you’d find yourselves battling each other in halo or call of duty. It was in those moments, the moments where he asked you how your day was, where he held you in his arms for hours and comforted you when you found out your grandfather passed away, where he would buy you your favorite coffee drink and purchased things for you that reminded him of you. It was a mistake. How could you fall in love with someone who was on paper; unavailable?

Mark made you feel things that no one has ever felt before. He showed you things so beautiful that you could only see with him and he made you feel as if you were the most beautiful thing on this earth. When you were with him, you felt like everything was perfect. He made you extremely happy and you knew he felt the same way about you. But when you’d leave his office, or once he’d leave your apartment, you felt empty.

There was a hole in your chest that he would leave every single time he’d have to go and return home; back to his family. To his wife, who wasn’t you. It would always cloud your mind; how could he continue to go home to her as if nothing was wrong. As if having an affair with one of your students and going back home to your wife was one of the most natural things to do? You didn’t mean to be so selfish and only think about your pain and your suffering, but you’d put yourself in her shoes every now and then. If it were you and you found out your husband were cheating on you, you’d be devastated.

Over the weekend, you and Yugyeom were at the grocery store preparing for a movie night with a couple of friends to take your mind off of finals. The two of you were arguing on what type of chips to get when your eyes landed on a cute little baby sitting in the cart. She looked so familiar and you couldn’t exactly pinpoint where you have seen her before. It wasn’t until her mother turned the cart around that you knew she was Mark’s wife and that was her daughter. He had a picture of the three of them on his desk in the beginning of the semester and you couldn’t get over how pretty she was.

She had long, silky hair, a petite frame and a gorgeous smile. The way she was looking at Mark in that photo was the same way you looked at him every day; with so much love and admiration. However, as your relationship continued, you were quick to notice that he took the photo from off of his desk and sometimes he even goes without his ring. It always made you curious as to why he did that, but you never had the courage to ask him. Seeing the two of them in person awoke something inside of you.

Even if it was just a couple of seconds of seeing them, it felt as if a bucket of cold water was thrown on you and reality just slapped you in the face. For some reason, seeing them made you feel like you were about to throw up. You didn’t understand why you felt so bothered; you had no problem sneaking around with her husband for the last six months. But knowing she existed and actually seeing her were two different things. It made it all the more real that Mark was being unfaithful and that you were a home wrecker, slowly tearing their family apart.

Only then did it occur to you that Mark wasn’t with them and you knew he was still probably sleeping because you tired him out in the back of your car the night before. You couldn’t allow this affair to continue; it was extremely stupid of you for letting it get this far and you were sure if you didn’t see the two of them that you would only get deeper and deeper in to a mess that you didn’t know how to get out of. That night, you found yourself at your previous fuck buddy Jinyoung’s house. You knew it was a big mistake, but you needed to know that there were other men out there who could please you.

Other men that would find you attractive and love your body the way that Mark claimed to. Other men that would be able to take your mind off of the only man you’ve ever loved. You needed to know that you could move on from Mark; that he wasn’t the only man out there but as Jinyoung thrusted himself in to you and left wet, sloppy kisses in the crook of your neck, you knew that nobody could take Mark’s place. Nobody would ever be able to set fire to your bones and send your entire body in flames. Nobody could ever be nor replace Mark, and that’s what you were most afraid of.

You weren’t surprised to see that Mark’s been trying to reach out to you for days. Ever since the day at the grocery store, you’ve been avoiding him. He’s sent you multiple emails over the weekend and thought that you were too busy with finals to get back to him so he understood. But when you didn’t meet up with him at his office that Monday and Tuesday, he knew something was up. You knew he was growing impatient and he must’ve known something was wrong. Mark never called you unless it was an emergency and even then, he would stick with emails and text messages. When you saw the two missed calls, you decided to finally give in and asked him if everything was okay.

Come to my office in fifteen. We need to talk.

You took in a deep breath and ignored the look of confusion on Yugyeom’s face before standing up and gathering your things. “One of my classmates are asking to meet up right now to study for the exam on Friday. If you’re not busy later, maybe we could go watch a movie or something. I’m sorry for leaving so sudden, but actually do some studying while I’m gone please? You have all the time after finals to focus on chocolate shakes Yugyeom. However, you won’t be able to afford to buy them anymore if you don’t graduate from college and get a decent paying job. I’ll see you later.”

You slowly made your way out of the coffee shop to prevent yourself from looking suspicious, but once you left you quickly began making your way back to campus. Thankfully the coffee shop was only a couple of minutes away and it gave you enough to calm down your racing heart. You thought about what you were going to do the entire weekend. As painful and gut wrenching the idea of no longer having Mark in your life was, you just couldn’t keep doing this anymore. Sure, it was mainly because you hated being the cause of a broken home, but it was also because you could no longer be the other woman knowing you harbored feelings for him.

She was his wife and you would forever be the whore that he only reached out to for sex. The closer you were to his building, the more you could feel the nerves building up all throughout your body. Surely he had to know you were staying away from him and not just focusing on your education in the moment. Even on the days where you were busy, you’d still contact him but you haven’t talked to him once the entire weekend. As soon as you made your way outside of his office, you took in a deep breath and gave yourself a couple of seconds to prepare your entire confrontative speech.

To your dismay, as soon as you knocked on the door, it’s as if he was waiting right there; waiting for you to arrive because you couldn’t even finish knocking before he opened it.

“Hi—“ the glare he gave you sent chills down your spine. He’s never looked so upset with you before. Was he really bothered with your silence? Why would he be though? You were just his play thing; you didn’t think not hearing from you would bother him in any way. He allowed you to walk in and closed the door; locking it just to be safe. There were a couple times where the two of you almost got caught because he forgot to do so. Luckily people always knocked before trying to open the door.

You felt him before you saw him; he wrapped his arms around your lower waist and placed his chin on your shoulder. Many red flags were going off at the feeling of his embrace but you couldn’t pull away; this man took away your sanity. You put him before yourself so many times. You were afraid of the backlash that would come if you were to make it known that something was on your mind.

This is your last time together y/n, make it worth the while.

Feeling him leave soft kisses against your neck made you shiver. You began to think back to a few days ago when Jinyoung had you writhing underneath him. With Jinyoung, it felt so rushed and at the end, you felt so disgusted; so used. He didn’t even bring you to your orgasm. With Mark, your release was his number one priority. He wasn’t going to stop fucking you until you came and that’s what you were going to miss. Someone who genuinely seemed to care about you and your well being. Someone who made it his responsibility to make sure you were taken cared of. You were going to miss Mark, but you miss the person you were before stumbling in to bed with him. You were a young woman with morals; one who would frown upon cheaters, mistresses, adulterers.

Time and time again, you told yourself you could never do that to someone but Mark Tuan broke down your walls entirely and got you to go against everything you ever believed in. Not anymore. Only for today, you were going to allow yourself to give in to him; to allow him to ravish in your body one more time. But once you were done, you were going to leave both his office and his life completely.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

His voice sounded melancholic; as if he was sad that you’ve been doing so and it made you feel even worse. Why did you feel like you were the one ruining everything? When two people have an affair, the two are at fault. It takes two people to cheat, so why do you feel as if this is all your fault? Especially because he was the one to initiate it all? Why did you allow him to take so much from you? So much of your time, love, patience, spirit? Only for him to reciprocate it in sex? Why did you allow this man, this stupidly beautiful man, to own your heart knowing there was no way you could ever own his?

“I’ve been busy with finals—“

“Bullshit y/n. Now tell me the truth. Why have you been avoiding me huh? Ignoring all my attempts in contacting you—did I say or do something to hurt you?”

Yes, you broke my fucking heart. You fucked my body and fucked over my mind. You touched me, filled me up entirely and left me empty every single fucking time only to go home to a woman who isn’t me. Who will never be me and I refuse to let you have the power to hurt me anymore.

“No. You didn’t do anything I’m just—I’m the problem. Don’t worry about me okay?”

He released a frustrated sigh before turning you around in order to get a better look at you. He cupped both of your cheeks in his hands and gazed down softly at you. His gaze pulled on your heartstrings and now you were worried that there was no way you’d be able to leave now. Mark had that effect on you. He could make the entire world go away and your attention would be solely directed on him.

“How can I not worry about you? You’re all I ever worry about—all I ever think about. I’ve missed you so much y/n. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong okay? Just let me take care of you.”

He missed you? No, he didn’t miss you, he missed the sex. He missed your body. He missed the way you did whatever he asked of you. There was no way in hell that he missed you, he didn’t know what he was saying. It was his dick talking for him; you knew how easily turned on he’d get from past experiences. You knew his words were a lie, so why were you now torn on what you should do once this was over?

He brought his lips down to yours in what started off in an extremely passionate yet gentle kiss. However, it didn’t take long for the kiss to get heated. He gripped at the back of your thighs and wrapped your legs around his hips and roughly shoved you up against the wall. His lips were rough and hot against yours, nipping, sucking and tugging on your bottom lip while playfully squeezing your ass in the process. Your hands absentmindedly made their way in to his hair; it was a habit you had every time you both would make out.

The soft grunts against your mouth made it aware that he enjoyed your little ministration, and you continued as the kiss only got deeper. Kissing Mark was what you thought you were going to miss the most; he told you on a few occasions how much he loved the feeling of your lips against his and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t trace your lips once he was gone just to reminisce on your love making session.

“Need to—fuck you—now—right now.”

You pulled away from his mouth and began leaving wet kisses along his jaw as he carried the two of you over to his desk. He laid you down gently on the table and brushed away some of your hair before stealing one more kiss.

“You’re so beautiful y/n. Breathtaking.”

He placed another kiss on your lips; more delicate and feather like this time. You didn’t know which of his kisses you preferred but with the way this one made your heart flutter, his gentler kiss was your new favorite. Countless men that had crushes on you, all of your exes and some one night stands would always tell you of how beautiful they thought you were, but nothing compared to hearing Mark tell you how beautiful you were.

Although you never thought too much of yourself, Mark never failed to make you feel like a goddess verbally and physically. He brought his hands inside of your shirt and squeezed both your breasts, causing a soft moan to fall from your lips.

“You like that? I know how much you love when I suck on these big titties of yours. Let daddy get inside of you and then I’ll show them some love.” Your shirt was thrown across the room with your shorts pulled off right after.

“Fuck—I will never get enough of this view.”

Watching him bite his lip while looking at you caused you to cross your legs in order to get any sort of friction against your throbbing core. How could someone who talked about such boring topics such as the earth’s mantle and the crevice of the moon be capable of such a naughty mouth? Just like you, he was now in just his underwear and you found yourself admiring his body in all it’s glory. Who knew a physics professor would be hiding such an impressive six pack under all his flannels and band tees?

“Wanna see just how much I’ve missed you?”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before he took off his underwear and you swore you could come just by the sight of his thick and extremely hardened cock. The tip was red and you had a feeling it had to be painful.

“I’m hard as a fucking rock y/n. I’m sorry you’re going through a hard time baby, but I’m gonna need your help in fixing this problem. You made daddy think you were ignoring him; now daddy’s gonna teach you a lesson.”

He lined himself at your entrance and ran his cock along your soaking folds to lubricate himself before entering you. His hands made their way up to your chest and he shoved his palms inside of your bra, cupping and squeezing your mounds the same time he pushed himself inside of you. The two of you moan in unison; no matter how many times you’d make love, the stretch always drove the two of you insane.

“Fuck—so tight—so wet—so, so good. Please—shit shit—tell me when I can move baby please—“

Another reason why you loved having sex with Mark was because he always put you first, every single time. He never failed to ask you how you were doing, if he could move, if he was hurting you, if the two of you could experiment in different positions. Although the two of you were commuting such a sinful act, he was always quite the gentlemen and it never failed to bring a smile on your face but they never lasted long.

The second you nodded in agreement, he began roughly shoving his cock in and out of your cunt. His dick stretched out your tight walls deliciously. Each and every time he bottomed out, you let out a pleasurable sigh; his balls hit the back of your ass with every single thrust and you could feel his cock kiss your cervix whenever he’d return back in to your warm walls. He followed up his promise and continued fondling with your breasts and completely yanking your bra off so that it wasn’t in the way of him massaging your mounds. He flicked at your nipple and pinched the other before bringing your breast inside of his mouth completely.

“M—Mark—mmm, fuck—your mouth—feels so good and your cock—f—fuck.” He giggled softly as he brought one of your nipples in between his teeth and nibbled softly.

“What about my cock y/n? Tell me—my dirty little slut. Tell me how it feels? You love the feeling of my balls on your ass yeah? Love the way daddy’s long, thick cock feels going in and out of your slick walls, don’t you y/n? Because I do. Fuck—did you just get tighter—don’t do that y/n, you know what that does to me.”

If only he knew the real meaning behind his words. If it were anyone else calling you their dirty little slut, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it but since it was Mark and technically yes, you were a dirty little slut, it made your stomach hurt. It wasn’t like you’d clench around him on purpose. It was just so much for you to take. The sound of skin on skin clapping and both your quiet moans filled the entire room making the atmosphere extremely sensual and erotic. He pulled away from your breasts and intertwined both your hands together while placing it on both sides of your head.

His thrusts only got harder and faster as the minutes went by and you were sure with the pace he was going that you’d both reach your ends here pretty soon. Though most people considered missionary as the most boring sex position, it had to be one of your favorites. You loved watching Mark’s facial expressions as he drilled himself in and out of you. You loved watching the way his eyes would roll to the back of his head as the tip of his cock would graze your clit. You loved seeing his cocky smile every time he’d force you to beg for him to make you come.

But something in the way he was looking at you right now was different. He never looked at you like this before and you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but he looked both fucked out yet soft with a hint of what you assumed was worry or curiosity. A small smile rose upon his face and he leaned down to steal a kiss from your lips.

“You mean a lot to me y/n. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Fuck, baby please tell me you’re close, please. You always get me to cum so soon. Your pussy is just that good. Ah—shit—“

Feeling his warm, creamy liquid fill up your walls got you to release not too long afterwards and you sent him a soft, cheeky grin even though you knew the hell that was coming. He gave you a few minutes to come down from your high and put his clothes back on before cleaning you up and helping you put on your shirt. The pleasurable soreness between your thighs made your cheeks warm and you were sure your legs were probably jelly at the rate he pounded you in, but you wanted your last time together to be memorable.

After Mark, you don’t think you’d want to be involved with anyone else for a while. Not when you experienced what you thought was the love of a lifetime. Once you were both finished making yourselves look more presentable, he ran his hands through your hair and pecked your nose. Since you knew of your next actions, you pulled his mouth down to yours and left a long, sloppy kiss on his lips. God, you were going to miss him.

“Hey, y/n, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you too much did I?”

You didn’t even realize a tear fell from your face until he wiped it up with his cheek. This felt like deja vu, Yugyeom did the same thing for you less than two hours ago but for the same reason. You knew he meant it as if he wanted to make sure he didn’t fuck you too hard, but you were in fact in pain.

You did hurt me, but not in the ways that you think you did.

“Should we take this back to your place now? I miss eating that pretty pussy of yours. Then we can order some take out tonight or something. I told my wife I wouldn’t be home until late because I knew there was a chance I’d be seeing you today, so we have a good amount of time together—“

The laugh of hysterics that came from the back of your mouth confused him. You couldn’t believe how he was acting so nonchalantly. He told his wife he was going to be late because he planned on sleeping around with another woman. How could he not feel wrong about that?

“Mark—let’s stop this.” He looked at you as if you grew another head.

“What are you taking about y/n? Stop what? I don’t understand where this is coming from. Baby—“

“Don’t call me baby! Are you forgetting that you have one? You’re married Mark! You have a wife and a daughter waiting for you at home while you’re out here kissing another woman. Spending time with another woman—fucking another woman! Giving yourself to another woman! Do you know how hard it’s been for me these last few months pretending like nothing was wrong? Fucking you and letting you fuck me knowing that you had a family waiting for your return? Do you know how many times I’ve cried over this situation? How many times I felt disgusted with myself because of this? You’re right Mark, I am a dirty little slut. I’m a whore—a mistress—A FUCKING HOMEWRECKER and I can’t let this go on anymore. I’m sorry.”

He let out a scoff, but you could see in his eyes that he was now feeling remorse. Whether it was towards you or to his family, you will never know but it didn’t matter anymore. Your mind was made up and there was no way you and Mark could bounce back from this. Especially because your heart was at stake and you were now wearing it on your sleeve.

“We’ve been fooling around for months y/n and it never seemed to bother you that I have a family. If it did, you would’ve never let it happen but you wanted me just as much as I wanted you. Still want you. Fuck—I meant what I said when I told you that there’s something different about you. You excite me y/n. You’re the only source of my happiness right now. You make me feel safe, you make me feel things not even my wife makes me feel. Please don’t give up on us—tell me what I can do to make it better. I’ll do anything.”

Leave your wife. You hated that those three words were at the back of your tongue, but it was the selfish bitch inside of you, the one who loved Mark Tuan with every fiber of her being that didn’t care about anyone but herself that wanted him to give up his family life in order to be with her. But the realist in you knew that could never happen. There was no way he’d leave his two-year-old daughter and his wife of four years for a senior in college. He wouldn’t give up everything he’s worked so hard for to be with you. No one in their right mind would do that; especially not for sex.

“Let me go Mark. It’s what’s best for both of us.”

“Speak for yourself y/n! I can’t lose you. Why only now? Why are you acting like this now? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Your throat was sore from all the yelling and your chest felt dry. Your fists were tightening out of frustration and you were sure there were tears falling from your cheeks but you were too numb to feel anything. A part of you was ready to say fuck it and take him in your arms, but you couldn’t do that. You loved yourself too much to give in to him even if it’s all you wanted to do.

“Your daughter is beautiful. She’s a splitting image of you. Has your pretty brown eyes, light, curly brown hair and such a cute little smile. And your wife is gorgeous. I saw them at the grocery store the other day and seeing them, actually seeing them in the flesh rather than just pictures felt like a punch in the face. You have such a cute little family Mark. Why would you let it all go to waste for a college student you fuck on the regular?”

“Damnit y/n! When will you get it through your head? I don’t say it but I know you know you are more than just a fuck. This is way more than just sex between us and you know it! Fuck! I love you! I’m in love with you and I have been for a while now! That’s why I can’t lose you! You’re all that I want and could ever need in my life. There were so many times I came up with excuses to be home late so I could spend more time with you. You make me feel young, like a little child. All my worries and negative thoughts go away whenever I’m with you. You’re my favorite place y/n. My safe haven. You mean the entire world to me. I’ll do anything to get you to stay. Please—I’ll go insane without you.”

“I love you too Mark. More than I plan on admitting and that’s why I have to let you go.”

His grip on your waist was tight and he pulled you against his chest in attempts to hide the tears that were falling down his cheeks from you but to no avail. You’ve only seen Mark cry twice in the last few months that you’ve known him for. Once while the two of you watched Christopher Robin and the other when your grandfather passed away. It was weird seeing him cry then, you didn’t think your tears hand any effect on him but it made you smile knowing they did. This time was much more different. It made you know that his words were sincere; that he really did love you and that he would go crazy without you. You’d probably go crazy without him too but it was what you had to do.

“I’ll leave her. If that’s what it’ll take to make you stay, I’ll leave my wife so we could be together—“

You shook your head and gave him a sad smile. As amazing the thought of being with Mark sounded and knowing he was willing to leave his family to be with you made your heart flutter, you couldn’t let him do that. You wouldn’t be able to live knowing what you did.

“Mark, please don’t. I can’t, okay? I love you, I really do and I probably always will. I’m sure I’ll regret doing this later on in life and I’ll miss you like hell—but it’s the right thing to do. What we had was amazing, but you and I both know we could never be together in the way that we want to.”

You placed one more kiss on the corner of his mouth and you could feel him hesitating to reach out to grab you, but you knew Mark was aware that you were right. He could fight for you all he wanted, but he couldn’t fight your heart’s decisions.

“Goodbye Mark. Take care of yourself.”

#got7 imagines #got7 #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines #mark tuan angst

68 notes · View notes

pinkhairedlily · 3 years

Text

Endless Seasons With You

Chapter 12 of The Spring He Came Back | 12 of 12

Hinamori’s eyes fluttered open at the arresting sound of her alarm clock. Her phone was also simultaneously ringing. How she came home she’ll never know, but she was still in her coordinated outfit and she was lying down in her room with the heater perfectly functioning. Her mouth was so dry and coarse like felt paper; it was as if the alcohol evaporated inside. Her last memory before she blacked out was….Hitsugaya, his hooded gaze, and his lips on her.

She reddened immediately at the recall. Her hands slapped her cheeks several times to get out of the trance. She was fairly certain it was a dream. Sharp pain shot through her temples, indicating the coming and going of migraines from an alcohol-induced night. Her eyes found the medicine bottle and the note under it on her side table.

For your hangover. Sorry I wasn’t able to say goodbye. – Shirou

What? Hinamori grabbed her still ringing phone and saw the caller ID.

“Finally you picked up!” Rukia’s voice greeted her a bit cheerier than last night.

“How come you don’t have a hangover?” Hinamori asked, still massaging her temples. “I feel like puking.”

“Oh but you were truly a sight last night, you know. We need you to spill all the details later,” Renji said over Rukia’s laughter.

“Don’t be late. We need to see them off on the train platform at 12 noon.” The two quickly hang up, saying they had some errands to do.

“12 noon?”

Hinamori rushed out from her room, towards Baba’s, and and to the guest room. He wasn’t here. His things weren’t here anymore.

“Momo? Are you looking for Toushirou?” Baba called out from the kitchen. “He slept at Dr. Byakuya’s house last night, but he went here this morning and delivered some medicine.”

Hinamori slumped to the floor in a puddle of hopelessness she last felt a decade ago. Did she misread everything again? Did she wear her heart on her sleeve so naively that it came back to bite her for the second time around?

Whatever happened last night wasn’t enough to warrant a reason for him to stay. This encounter on the platform was her last chance, and if it won’t work out, at least she’ll be able to let go of him with the knowledge that she told him her true feelings. She looked at the time on her phone and saw that she only had one hour left.

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

The train’s whistle sounded twice, indicating that it was nearing the departure time. Hinamori jumped off her bike, her farewell gift in her arms. Then again, just like ten years ago, the doors started closing when she was running towards the platform.

“Wait! Shirou!” She quickened her run, the flowers losing some of their petals in the process. She tried to look for silver hair at every cab, even just for a split second. Surely, she might still have this last chance. She wasn’t able to say her last proper goodbye. Why was fate so harsh on her?

Tears started to blur her vision, but in the last cab she finally caught glimpse of Urahara and Byakuya. She pounded on the train’s doors, hoping they would somehow pry open, but the train started to move. She still hasn’t found him. “No, no, no, no.”

It was the last whistle, the moment to leave. She ran just before the train rode the momentum, she ran like her life was on the line, she ran with the hope that maybe she could catch the rail and be swept away in its journey. But the wheels were so much faster than her legs, and she was just one step away from the end of the platform.

Maybe I should jump.

Before her feet could lunge at the space between the platform and the last cab, someone grabbed her waist and pulled her to safety, the bouquet of daffodils loosening from her grip and flying with the strong wind.

He was gone. The train has left the station. She stared at the open blue sky, dotted with the swirling petals of her yellow daffodils and the pink cherry blossoms. How dare you be a beautiful day when I just lost him.

She cried openly, like how she did when she lost her parents. What a pathetic life she has led so far. She got manipulated by a man she truly admired, she thought she lost her grandmother due to her negligence, she drove her best friend away from his hometown, and she lost the chance to make him stay. “I haven’t told you yet I like you, Toushirou. It’s so unfair.”

“You already told me last night, Momo.”

His scent wafted around her, arresting her senses in a sudden burst of realization. She turned around and saw that he supported her fall on the platform. There was a hitch in her throat when it dawned on her that he didn’t leave. She succumbed in his embrace on the ground, afraid that he would suddenly leave or take the next train. She hugged him a little bit more – never mind that people were looking, never mind that traffic patrol was calling them out on the radio, never mind that their friends were breaking out to cheers and yells.

He held her hand as they walked towards a quiet spot on the side of the station. “I wasn’t on that train. Why were you getting on there?”

“Are you gonna be on the next one?” Hinamori asked. She wasn’t in the clear yet.

“Of course not.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were drunk and you passed out. In the middle of drinking, no less.”

“You could have told me this the day you arrived.”

“Because I wasn’t sure if you would have me.” That pout seldom came on Hitsugaya’s face, but it did now in a random moment of insecurity.

Hinamori was suddenly pissed. She didn’t run across a train platform like a crazy lady for her sincerity to take jabs. “How much more should I prove to you that I would have you?”

“I know, I know. That’s why I stayed,” he reassured her. “You kissed me.”

It wasn’t a dream. They really did kiss last night. “And you kissed back.”

“Are you regretting it now?” He reached out to her other hand like a second nature. This hand holding was fast becoming a routine for both of them.

“Silly, don’t you dare regret staying behind too.” Hinamori sighed at the sight of yellow petals in the wind. “I brought you a bouquet as a farewell gift. They’re frost-resistant and they bloom all year round. I grew them myself.”

“See, I told you you’ll come up with that idea.” Hitsugaya let go of her hands and wrapped them around her waist. He pulled her closer so the wall can cover them from the prying eyes of the crowd. “I think I need to reward you with a kiss.”

His head lowered down on hers, and their lips found each other in a sweet, lingering way. “Would it be too fast if I asked you to go out with me?”

The whistle resounded again, this time signaling an arrival.

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

Five years later

The spring season was ending, but the daffodils in Hitsugaya’s arms were as fresh as the first bloom. In front of him was Baba in a wheelchair, still spritely as ever but her legs have given way to old age.

“Congratulations, Momo!”

The academy’s robes fit Hinamori like a second skin. Hers were maroon instead of the traditional blue for the undergraduates; she finished her bachelors and graduate studies in five years in a feat only she could have done by grit and hard work. Her thesis built upon her work on floral ecology and climate-resilient flowers which earned her several distinctions and publications. She has done all of these and still managed to keep her florist job afloat. Proud was an understatement.

She went to Hitsugaya and Baba after the pictorial, her arms enveloping them in a large, warm hug. The three Rs plus Gin also gave her bouquets and gift baskets.

“So where are we eating?” Urahara, Byakuya, and Unohana blended in the crowd in disguise, careful not to catch the attention of other faculty and students. The three became members of the academy board with Unohana passing the crown of chairpersonship to Byakuya.

“There’s a grand luncheon in our house,” Baba said. “It’s not my cooking, but they’re all my recipes.”

Hitsugaya hailed their service, a large van that can accommodate all of them. Long tables were set on the family grounds under the shade of the old camphor tree. Just like any other big day, announcements were bound to be made.

When Byakuya offered a wine glass to his sister, Rukia declined. “Isn’t it too early to be drinking?”

“I’m pretty sure you drank wine when it was still nine in the morning,” Byakuya said. Then he looked over to Renji and saw the nervous expression.

“Oh Byakuya, you’re gonna be an uncle!” Urahara patted him on the back, the latter choking on a morsel of food.

The couple got married last year during fall. It was Rukia’s wish to have a rustic-themed wedding in a barnyard, and Renji encouraged this. Hinamori was happy enough to curate the floral arrangements in warm muted red, orange, and yellow tones. Now they were bringing a baby into the world.

“Congratulations Rukia and Renji!”

“You should one-up me, Rangiku.” Rukia smiled at her friend, knowing what was up. The blonde took up Rukia’s offer. Rangiku’s hand showed her ring finger adorned with a silver band with a small turquoise in the middle. Having been engaged a few months ago, her wedding announcement with Gin was overdue.

“So we settled on a winter schedule,” Gin announced, kissing Rangiku on the cheek. Unamused expressions looked back at them, slightly disoriented at the date.

“It’s the busiest school season what with the orientations and the trainings and the school openings,” Byakuya protested.

“Oh come on, make time for me,” Rangiku whined.

“You’re not my sister,” Byakuya retorted.

“Fine. Rukia will still go anyway, and I doubt you’d leave your pregnant sister unattended.”

“Sly, Rangiku. No problems for me.” Urahara opened a new bottle of wine. “Any news from you two, Hitsugaya and Hinamori?”

Hinamori quizzically looked at her boyfriend of five years and wondered if she missed anything major. “Um, I graduated?” Hitsugaya weirdly avoided her eyes.

“That merits a cheer.” Unohana held up her wine glass and proudly beamed at Hinamori. “To Momo!”

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

Their guests left just before dusk settled down, ending the celebration with an exhilarating high. It was a tiring day, but it was mostly fulfilling. Just a series of accomplishments that have accumulated over the years; a series of interactions, of hellos and goodbyes, of hugs and quarrels, a series which made relationships, lasting memories, and great achievements.

After securing Baba’s bed and her medicine, Hinamori and Hitsugaya went to the back of the family compound for a quick reprieve from house chores. The rumors were quick to lash out with their living-in arrangement, but they honestly didn’t mind them, neither did Baba. The compound was too large, and they could easily sleep in different rooms and in different sections. Obviously, they didn’t because they spent a long time too far apart and any more distance would keep the other awake throughout the night. Cuddling was also a much more effective way to fall asleep.

The foothills and the vacant lot behind the compound were now filled with plots of different floral varieties. The dusk had a magical feel to it, the way the sun would transition into the soft glow of the moonlight, and the play of lights across the petals of the blooms. Half of the area was dedicated to daffodils, Hinamori’s memorial to their meadow of childhood and adolescent memories. Hitsugaya, having been granted by Baba’s blessing to own part of the compound, converted some rooms into his laboratory and office. More or less, they have started leaving imprints on this ancestral land.

HItsugaya had a plan – become the youngest tenured faculty, have watermelon contests during summer, and live out the rest of his days with the only family he knew – and his plan succeeded. He initially thought he strayed from that path and entertained the idea that maybe, perhaps, in some foreign countries, there was some other face he could come home to.

But Momo was home. He knew that before he left some fifteen years ago, when they left things unsaid and dealt with the repercussions of it within that decade. He knew that when he came back one spring season and saw how she built herself back up, when he realized he had a chance to turn his dream into a possibility. He knew that when he slept beside her and soft sighs escaped her lips as she snuggled closer. Momo was home.

They were indeed two separate journeys merging at the end of their respective successful conclusions, and he couldn’t be any happier.

“What are you smiling about?” Her hair was undone; it grew to a length reaching her waist, and he wanted nothing more than to slip his fingers in between those strands.

“Your hair and the moonlight,” Hitsugaya said. “I don’t want to one-up our friends earlier.”

“We’ve had conversations about this, but I’m not sure if I’d ever be ready.” She slid some straying locks behind her ear, blushing at the implication of his words.

Hitsugaya observed a little more. She said she wasn’t ready, but anxiety wasn’t in her body language. Maybe his timing was just right. “Looking back, it was quite a feat that I made you fell in love with me in one week.”

A light punch landed on his arm. “There’s that usual saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I’d like to believe it was planted there before long.”

“The trysts in the secret room really did their job, huh?” He had an inkling about that too, and he was glad he did those little things because those little things soon became bigger pictures and the pictures became dreams.

Hinamori laughed at the memories, the sneaking in the early mornings, and the pitiful self she was before. “The most we did was sleep on each other’s laps.”

“Well, don’t you want to sit on my lap right now?” Hitsugaya asked.

“We did this before Shirou and I only got allergies,” she complained, but she slid closer to him and he enveloped her in a back hug.

“Here’s a crown for my pretty girl.” The daffodils were beautiful on her hair, and the stars slowly ascended on the night sky. “And here’s a ring for the love of my life.”

Hinamori didn’t say anything and for a second, he was afraid she would say no. His plan B was to hole up in his laboratory for a few weeks and then ask for an explanation from her, but he soon heard muffled sobs from her.

“I told you I’ll never be ready for this. I’m tearing up so much.”

“Momo, we talked about communication so I need a definite yes or no,” he said as he was wiping away her tears.

She turned to him and nodded happily. “I’ve had five spring seasons with you, and you might think I’m greedy but I want them all.”

Hitsugaya mouthed a silent yes and matched it with a fist pump before he could slide the ring on Hinamori’s finger, both of their hands trembling in happiness.

“I’m quite nervous,” he said to her. He wiped a stray tear from his eyes, not noticing that he started tearing up as well. “I guess I’ll be like weepy Renji on his wedding day, but I’ll be happy to spend endless seasons with you for the rest of my life.”

It was Hinamori’s turn to cup his face. “That makes the two of us.”

The two kissed under the moonlight, the yellow daffodils swaying to the gentle caress of the wind, their meadow of happiness never wilting.

A/N: Everyone, thank you for reading my work. It was a joy writing HitsuHina. I hope you found some bit of comfort in their stories, and I hope you are all safe and well. On to our next journey! :)

7 notes · View notes

darlinglissa · 4 years

Text

no rest for the wicked

steph is just. so tired. and the batboys are so insufferable. just some shenanigans for 4,503 words.

summary:

steph is a tired college student, just trying to make her way to her bachelor’s degree at least. doing this simultaneously with her nightly vigilantism is difficult and exhausting, but she makes it work dammit. she doesn’t even mind too much that her aforementioned nightly vigilantism comes with strange bat people that she isn’t fully convinced are people. but if one more tights-wearing, creepily-looming bat climbs through her window on her night off to actually complete an essay for once she’s going to make them write the six page essay for her, or so help her.

big big big thank you to @wisdom-walks-alone for being the best beta this girl could ask for!!!

read it on ao3!

Stephanie Brown is having what she likes to call a Shit Day. She’s just tired all around, and when it starts affecting her nightly hobby she starts to rethink her priorities for the first time in—she can’t remember when. Which then causes an existential crisis that she, at the ripe age of 21, should not be going through yet. Her crisis turns into an absolute nosedive of a tailspin when, of all the people in her life, Bruce “I’m Batman” Wayne notices that her help on the case is turning hindrance instead and tells her to take the next few nights off the case.

“It’ll still be there when you come back,” he says.

She may or may not stare at him for five minutes too long, and he may question his stance on asking her to work with them on the Falcone case of the week, but she goes home either way. Steph is not about to look this gift horse in the mouth, even if her entire view on life has shifted a solid eighty degrees to the right in less than two minutes.

And boy, does she not regret her decision to go home. A full night’s sleep, an actual breakfast that isn’t from a drive-thru on her way to her eight am class that she’s always been perpetually late to, and she is on time to her class for the first time. In all honesty, Steph is living her best life in the first two hours of her day.

And it didn’t stop there: she’s on time to all three classes she has, she’s actually awake for the classes, and her notes are helpful instead of hopeless scribbles of random key words and names of people. She’s feeling like the student she always knew she could be, but was always too tired to be.

When she gets home after her last class, she takes her time to shower and put on her comfiest pajamas, and make a dinner that isn’t frozen solid. The dinner is on the table, her books are opened and scattered around her, and Steph is feeling that ripe sense of productivity that has eluded her since she started offering the bats her help. With no risk of interruption—surely Bruce knew what a night off was when he offered her to take some—she eats lazily while working on some chemistry problems.

She abandons the chemistry homework when she’s finished eating, and cleans her plate instead of throwing it in the dishwasher without a care. This productivity shtick ain’t so bad, it at least keeps her apartment cleaner—not clean, but cleaner.

Her planner is propped up against her bag, the day’s assignments actually written down neatly instead of rushed abbreviations that take an hour to decipher, and she gives it a look-over. Steph realizes that with this new downtime she’s been given she can actually get a head start on an essay due in a few days. “Head start” is used loosely, but starting it two days in advance is a new experience for her. She usually rushes the day of due to late nights on the streets and hopes it doesn’t actually look like it was rushed.

Blanket on, pillows fluffed behind her, and laptop fully charged, Steph settles into her couch to start this thematic essay that’s been gnawing at her mind since it was assigned. The introductory paragraph is slow to set up, but she can feel her brain gaining momentum as she puzzles out her argument. Her brow is furrowed and her fingers are flying across the keyboard, with the backspace having the most hits. She’s getting there, she is, her thesis is coming together so nicely and her ideas are flowing freely, she hasn’t felt adrenaline from something other than freefalls in...months? Years? Her fingers stutter and she rereads her thesis. This is such bull—

A knock on her window almost has her sprawled on the floor, and her hands catch her laptop at the last possible second. Her head snaps over to the window and there, in all his black and blue spandexed glory, was Dick Grayson, in his stupid skintight spandex suit and his stupid sheepish but pained grin, bleeding on her fire escape. Which she just cleaned her own blood off of.

Irritated didn’t cover the slight boiling she could feel in her veins. She gives one last look at her document as she places her laptop on the coffee table, and another knock resounds through her living room.

“Okay! Okay. You win this round, Night-dork.” Steph goes over to her window and opens the hatch, letting the first Boy Wonder climb—more like fall—into her apartment. Her eyes follow his form as he all but crawls to her kitchen’s island, his domino being tossed onto the counter carelessly. She follows slowly, trying not to hate the man before he’s done anything other than exist, and maybe breathe, in her apartment. “Thanks for not bleeding on my carpet, too.”

Dick glances up at her before going back to his search for her first aid kit. “My pleasure, courtesy is my middle name.” His voice is strained, but his demeanor is purposely relaxed.

“Your middle name is John.” She watches him struggle, eyes darting from him at the cabinet above her fridge, where he’s reaching up even though it’s obviously hurting him, to the drawer beside her sink where her first aid kit is tucked away.

“It’s close enough,” he says with a tight shrug. He continues to search through her baking sheets and cooling racks.

Realizing he won’t be leaving that cabinet for a while, Steph sighs and pushes his body to the right drawer. He turns that sheepish-but-pained grin at her again, and she just pushes it away from her with a groan. Dick takes a heavy seat on one of her island’s stools, opening the kit with his non-bloody hand.

“It’s my day off. Do you know what that is?” she asks him, eyeing the needle and thread in his hands with mild interest as he misses the needle’s eye twice before taking it and threading it herself. Exasperation bubbles to the surface, and after Dick starts stitching his side she shuffles away to the couch. That grin seems permanently fixed on his face whenever she looks at him, so she stops looking at him and busies herself with folding the blanket that fell to the floor with her. “It’s this really cool thing where I stay home and not do what I would normally do. Like deal with your blood in my apartment.”

For a brief moment only Steph’s defeated sigh and Dick’s pained breaths are all that can be heard, and then Dick breaks it between stitches. “Yeah, sorry about this.” That grin is facing her and she looks at the blanket like it has a map that will lead her out of this conversation. Hell, out of this entire interaction. “You were the closest safe house, and I had a bit of a...situation.” He gestures to his side meaningfully with his head, as if Steph has no idea what situation he could possibly be referring to. “Hey, can you hand me the scissors?”

Dropping the blanket on the couch, Steph grabs the scissors from the other side of the island and hands them to him. He thanks her softly in that Earnest and Sincere Dick Grayson way, which makes it increasingly hard to be irritated with him, which in itself is irritating. He cuts the thread and ties it off a little sloppily, but effectively.

“There, all done and no one’s dead.” Dick stands up, grunting only slightly as he does so, and sets everything back in the first aid kit.

Steph notices that he puts it all in more neatly than it had been to begin with—she’s always in a hurry to get it back in the drawer and get to bed, don’t judge—and begrudgingly takes it when he hands it to her gently. She can feel Dick’s eyes on her as she puts it in its drawer, then she turns to face him, leaning against the drawer as it shuts. “Okay, you’re no longer in danger of dying, and I have an essay to write, so shoo.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands.

Her weight is fully being supported by her counter and Dick is looking at her with his kicked puppy eyes that make her give in sooner than she would like to admit. Steph slumps down a little more, legs stretched out in front of her and feet flat against the floor. She meets his gaze head on, feeling all the productivity and triumph from the day drain out of her so fast she’s a little dizzy. “What.”

His pout deepens, and she can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I feel bad, Steph.” Dick leans into the stool’s back and flattens his hands on the island’s counter. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

And there’s the Dick Grayson Guilt Trip.

Steph’s eyes trail over to her laptop one last time, the screen gone black from inactivity. She huffs a laugh, because this is her life, and it actually feels more real with a newly-stitched up dude in her kitchen than writing an essay early. For the second time in less than two days she finds herself having a mini crisis, but Dick’s puppy dog eyes snap her back. Steph rolls her eyes, dragging herself to her fridge. “You’re not intruding, Dick.”

Dick’s grin goes from sheepish to genuine with a touch of triumph, and he leans his body forward against the counter. “Great! So how does a nice midnight snack sound?”

She looks away from the orange juice she’s pulling off the shelf to stare at Dick in distrust. “You aren’t going near my stove, Grayson. I don’t need a small fire to deal with on top of my bloody fire escape.” A glass is taken from the shelf beside the fridge, and as she pours the juice into it she lets herself grin at Dick’s spluttering.

“I wouldn’t burn your kitchen down this time! I’ve gotten better,” he promises, pointing a red stained finger in her direction. Steph continues to stare at him with that deadpan expression she practiced from Alfred, though she knows hers isn’t half as successful as the stern butler’s. “I’ve been practicing!”

“Well, you can practice somewhere that isn’t my kitchen. I’ll make us pancakes if you stop looking at me like I took Jason’s gun to your favorite suit,” she says, bringing her glass to her lips.

Dick nods, pointedly looking away from her and over at the laptop on the coffee table, and wisely stays silent for the moment.

Steph whips the batter up as quickly as she can, flour settling on her shirt and the counter despite her careful measuring and whisking. The stack of pancakes towers on her chipped plate, and when the batter runs out she splits them between the two of them.

They eat in relative silence, until Steph breaks it when she finishes eating, feeling exhaustion seep into her bones. She eyes the clock on her microwave, the green numbers flashing 12:45; her 9:30 class crosses her mind like a neon sign saying go to bed, dumbass. Tense hands rub at her eyes before she pushes her chair back.

“This has been a lovely, if not bloody, visit,” she says, picking up her plate and stealing Dick’s even though he still had a couple bites left.

“Hey!”

She ignores this maturely, cleaning the plates and feeling satisfaction in her petty revenge. “But it’s getting late and I’m tired. You know the exit.”

Without waiting to make sure he actually leaves, Steph drags herself to her bedroom and kicks the door shut with her foot. In the next moment she’s face down on her bed and passes out when her head hits the duvet.

Surely tomorrow will be better is the last thought that dashes through her sleep-muddled mind.

---

Tomorrow isn’t better. She sleeps through her alarm, and misses her first class. She curses Dick’s name her whole drive to campus while she chugs coffee. She doesn’t even like coffee.

The one class she’s able to make it to sucks the joy of life out of her, and when she tries to heat up the leftovers she brought with her for lunch the microwave went up in flames.

(Yeah, Bruce will be the one getting that bill.)

Steph trudges into her apartment and just as she closes the door she realizes that she still has that essay, and she really doesn’t want to have to do it all on the last day possible. She doesn’t even have a complete introduction paragraph.

So she makes a nice batch of waffles to help lick her wounds, and when she’s full and feeling slightly better she sets forth to spite-finish her essay.

Her essay is actually coming along, one body paragraph finished and her argument set in stone, and she’s feeling that satisfaction building in her gut. A smile is tugging at her lips, and the idea of finishing it early is seeming more plausible.

But then her window is being slammed open and a small body is shoved through.

Stephanie most definitely does not scream, and she will forever deny it.

Timothy “Pain in Steph’s Ass” Drake climbs in after Damian—who’s becoming increasingly feral by the second—and the laptop is abandoned once again. Unlike last night, Steph has no hopes of getting back to the document and has resigned herself to her fate of finishing it all tomorrow.

Steph eyes the feral child practically vibrating with rage, then looks over at Tim, who appears to be as calm as can be when paired with a murderous child. After shutting the window behind him, Tim gives a little wave, pulling his domino off with the motion. “Hey, honey, I’m home?”

All that satisfaction left her in droves, and she stalks over to her laptop and shuts it with a snap.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Tim flinch just barely, and a smidge of satisfaction returns, but it’s quickly taken away when she notices Damian’s glare has settled on her. The sigh that leaves her body is heavy and tired, but she pushes forward and leans against the back of her couch to stare them down nonetheless.

“Tim, babe, what the hell do you want on my night off?” Steph crosses her arms over her chest, resting her chin in one of her palms. She glances over at Damian again but looks away from his piercing green eyes that promise pain. “And why does the bat-brat look ready to put me in a real grave?”

Tim turns to Damian with a grimace, and tries to start explaining, “You’re the only one technically available tonight, so—”

Damian cuts him off sharply. “So you need to help us with this lead so we can leave and attend more pressing matters. After all, crime doesn’t take nights off.”

Tim hides his face in his hands, muffling a groan. “I told you to let me do the talking.”

The smaller boy turns on his heel, his cape fluttering behind him, making him look just like Batman after a scolding for a night gone worse than it should have. “I agreed to nothing of the sort, Drake.” He walks like he’s commanding the room, rummaging through Steph’s fridge as if he has the right. Like he’s Bruce Wayne and could buy her out of house and home.

(Well, he actually could, in all likelihood.)

Steph doesn’t like the comparison her mind is making, so she interrupts before it can go any further. “I don’t care who does the talking, just give me the info so you can leave faster.”

Tim’s hands run down his face and he looks at Steph pleadingly. “I know it’s your night off, but no one else would answer their comms and we really need an extra pair of eyes on this case. We’re driving ourselves crazy looking at the same clues over and over.”

Steph sighs, and takes in the bags under Tim’s eyes and Damian’s tensed shoulders. She lets out a groan, leaning against the couch back even heavier and getting a sense of deja vu with this feeling of defeat. “Okay.”

Damian scoffs from his place at her fridge before he moves on to browsing through her cabinets. “Of course you will, it’s your duty.”

Tim interrupts before Steph can retaliate with her, arguably, witty and biting remark. “Great, thank you, I love you, please look at the file.”

She begrudgingly takes the folder from her boyfriend’s hand, moving to plop on the couch. Papers are strewn about within seconds, and as Steph scans the information her mind is happy to have something more familiar to focus on.

It’s quiet aside from pages shuffling and Damian finally finding suitable tea bags, filling her kettle with water. Tim settles down next to her, relaxing for what must be the first time tonight.

“Got stuck with Bruce Jr.? What’d you do to get that sentence?” she asks, eyes not leaving the pages.

Tim scoots in closer. “I was the only one who didn’t have an excuse not to work with him.”

Steph’s pen circles and connects a few sentences, and she hands the paper to Tim. She moves on to the next paper, scanning for pertinent facts, adding more circles and lines. “Dick wouldn’t take him tonight?”

He looks over her shoulder, taking papers as she passes them off and connects the dots she’s connecting. “He’s on medical leave. Stab wound, I think?”

Her pen stops mid-circle before she forces herself to finish the marking. “Yeah, that was a thing.”

“‘That was a thing’?” Tim asks as he leans back, staring at Steph in mild confusion.

“Yeah, he used my needle and thread last night. Didn’t think it would actually be an issue for him,” she says as calmly as she can, very aware of the unhappy child pouring boiling water a few feet behind them.

Sensing her forced nonchalance—and glancing back at Damian before looking back at her—he drops it.

“It’s the bodyguard, he’s the link,” she declares, pushing the papers into the folder and the folder into Tim’s lap. “Good luck, he’s built like a linebacker.”

Damian sniffs derisively, sipping his tea like the snooty brat he was raised to be. “If I had had another half hour—”

“Thanks, you’re the best,” Tim says loudly, giving Damian a look. Damian just huffs and turns back to his tea. Tim gives Steph a kiss on her cheek before standing and putting his domino back on. “Damian, we should get going so we can get some intel before we have to head home.”

Steph jumps up and slides the window open, happy to let the two walking headaches exit her premises. “Yep, you should get going, little demon.”

Damian sneers at her, but finishes his tea and puts his mug in the sink. “Thank you for your hospitality, brat-girl.” He walks past her to the window ledge, sliding out to the fire escape. “The state of your fire escape is appalling.”

“Yeah, whatever bat-brat, go annoy that bodyguard for a while,” she replies, giving him a slight push as she walks by to go put his mug in the dishwasher and avoiding the right hook thrown back at her. She passes Tim and gives him a quick kiss while pointedly ignoring Damian’s age-appropriate hiss of disgust.

“See you Friday?” Tim asks before he follows Damian out the window.

Steph looks back from the sink, and smiles. “Yep, as always.”

Tim disappears from her fire escape and Steph’s shoulders fall slightly. After the dishwasher is turned on because she’s a responsible adult and chores are her bitch, she falls into bed.

Tomorrow, she thinks, is another day, huh?

---

Steph wakes up to sunlight filtering through her curtains and 11:14 on her alarm clock. The light bugs her into getting up, but she feels rested enough as she stretches her joints. She takes a hot shower, and gets into comfy sweats and a sweater.

Thursdays will be her favorite day for the next two months. No classes make for a relaxed and mostly productive day, if not wonderful for her sanity.

So she takes her time making a nice breakfast of eggs and toast, and after unloading the dishwasher and putting her breakfast dishes into it, she’s feeling happy and productive. Her laptop is open and ready, and she settles in for the long haul to finish this goddamn essay.

She’s working at a steady pace, getting into the zone of writing about themes and connecting ideas and only semi-hating it. The time passes quickly, and she’s halfway to her six page minimum and mentally screaming because she’s gotten this far, she can finish it on time for the first time in years.

It’s when she’s just reached the middle of her fourth page that her window is smashed to pieces, glass littering her floor.

Steph is ready to cry.

But she’s been taught—well, she inferred from a few grunts—to use emotion as a driving force and grabs her slugger from under the couch and swings it at the figure, who is distracted by trying to avoid the shards of glass underfoot. Through his lapse of attention, he doesn’t dodge fast enough.

Jason now has a bruise blooming on his right shoulder blade, his face contorted in pain before twisting into a scowl aimed at Steph. Normally, it would have been effective, and it would have been if Steph wasn’t so angry and stressed. She drops her bat, and it rolls under her coffee table.

“It’s the middle of the fucking day, why the everloving fuck are you running around in your furry suit, you jackass?”

Jason’s scowl deepens, offense written over every inch of his face. He brushes glass off his shoulders, letting the pieces clatter against their kin on the floor. “I am not like the bat-freaks, Brown. I was trying to go undercover in a drug gang’s meeting, but I was found out. I lost them a few blocks back, so I had to move to a safe location before they caught my trail again. I caught sight of one of the guys just as I was climbing up so I was a bit rushed. You were closest, don’t be thinkin’ anything of it, you wouldn’t be my first choice if I had a choice.”

“Oh boy, you sure know how to make a girl feel special, Todd.” She stalks over to the closet in the hall, and when she’s back in front of him she hands him the broom and dustpan.

He takes it and just stares at it for a second before looking back up at her with an eyebrow raised. “You’re kidding me.”

Steph shakes her head. “Nope.”

Jason heaves a sigh, but starts sweeping the glass into a pile. As he cleans his mess, Steph looks over at the microwave clock. 4:06. She curses under her breath, rubbing her eyes for a moment to relieve the headache coming on.

“Did I interrupt something?”

She lowers her hands, crossing her arms, to see Jason looking up at her questioningly. She shrugs with one shoulder, glancing at her laptop. “Only an essay that the universe doesn’t want me to finish on time. No biggie.”

Jason hums lightly with a nod, brushing the glass into the dustpan, but doesn’t say anything more. An idea sparks in Steph’s muddled brain, and she eyes Jason’s hunched form with more interest.

“Hey, Jay, you like literature, right?” A content smile plays on Steph’s lips.

Jason glanced up, but stopped his motion as soon as he caught sight of the cat who ate the canary. “I...dabble.” He hesitates, as if he doesn’t want to finish his thought, but he does anyway. “Why?”

“Well, you see, my dear Jaybird—”

“—Don’t call me that—”

“—this essay is on Persuasion, which I didn’t actually read? Anyway—”

“—didn’t actually read, what the fuck is wrong with you—”

“—I’m writing about the theme of appearances, and my argument is actually kinda strong?”

Jason throws the glass into the trash can, then moves to sit on the couch and grabs her laptop. “All right. Open the doc.”

Steph grins, taking the laptop and doing as he asked. It worked. It was the longest of shots and it fucking worked. He reads what she has and gives honest—and really harsh?—critiques, picking her essay apart.

“Then fix it!” she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. She can only take so much criticism before it gets on her nerves. “How do I structure it, oh, master writer? If my quotes are so stupid, what quotes would be better?”

Off the top of his head, Jason lists three quotes. And she has to admit it: they fit her argument perfectly. She grumbles as she flips through the book to find the quotes.

As he rambles on about the theme and effective arguments, Steph absentmindedly reflects that this would have been a great punishment if he didn’t look like he was enjoying it so damn much. In fact, it makes her connect school to Jason, and how he was a really good student from what Alfred says.

His borderline monologue is cut off as Steph sits up and looks at him curiously. Jason realizes that she hasn’t been listening and gives her an unamused look. “Really?”

She ignores him. “Why didn’t you go on to college?”

Taken aback by the random question, Jason looks more like a deer in headlights than the terrorizer of Gotham’s crime syndicate. “Uh, because I’m legally dead?”

Steph rolls her eyes. “Please, your dad’s the wealthiest guy in Gotham, he can pull some strings in the right places.” She stops at the angry fire building in his eyes at the mention of Bruce and backtracks like the expert she is. “Or you could literally make a fake identity? You’re a crime lord, you aren’t above fake identities, are you?”

Jason looks lost in thought for a moment, before seamlessly returning to his essay argument-turned-rant as if he hadn’t even stopped. Steph notes the sore subject and actually pays attention this time around, fixing the essay with his help.

---

For the first time in weeks, Steph barges through Jason’s window with a crazed grin on her face.

“Uh, what the fuck are you doing here?” Jason asks from his stove, water boiling beside him.

She doesn’t reply, just walks over to him with a bounce in her step, shoving a stack of papers in his face. The red A is clear as day, and Jason will forever deny the proud grin and high five that overtakes him in that moment.

19 notes · View notes

lia-jones · 4 years

Text

Growing Pains - Chapter Twenty Five - The Ghosts of the Past

“You should move in with me.” Victor stated casually, while sipping his morning coffee.

I almost choked on my toast.

“W-what?” I stuttered. Where was this coming from, all of a sudden?

“Haven’t had enough coffee yet?” He teased, smiling, peeking inside my mug. “It’s only reasonable, you barely sleep at your apartment anyway, you spend all your time here, you might as well save the rent money and just come live here.”

“Well, if it’s the fiscally responsible thing to do.” I said, ironically. “Besides, the reason I sleep here all the time is because you keep insisting that I do. I wouldn’t mind spending a few nights at my apartment.” I argued back. “You probably could use the break.”

“I didn’t say I want you to spend more nights at your apartment, I was saying I want you to spend all nights here.” Victor sounded frustrated. “Do you really stay the night just because I insist?”

“I did not say that.” I answered softly while taking the dirty breakfast dishes away. I wanted to avoid that conversation so bad.

And Victor apparently caught up on that, seemingly dropping the subject altogether, his eyes trained on his phone. However, I could see his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and that usually meant he was churning some thought in that thick head of his. I sighed.

“Look, this is all very new and it’s a bit weird.” I tried to make him see my perspective. “There’s so much we haven’t even discussed yet… I mean, for now, it’s casual, if we get tired of each other we can go spend some time on our own. If I start living here, you’ll have me in your hair all the time. Besides, we don’t even really know that much about each other, never discussed how we will split the bills…”

“What bills?” He looked confused. “You mean utilities? We’re not roommates, and I don’t need you to pay for those.”

“Well, I want to contribute too. You shouldn’t be supporting me just because you’re rich. See, we really should be discussing these things before acting rashly.”

“Where do you see yourself two years from now?” Victor asked out of the blue, in all seriousness. I blinked at him.

“What, is this a job interview?” I joked. He didn’t laugh.

“Where do you see yourself two years from now?”

I couldn’t see why he was asking, but I was sure it was important. I tried my best to answer.

“I don’t know, honestly.” I said, softly, hoping I could calm some of the inner turmoil I could feel in him. “If someone told me two years ago that I would have gone through all of this… The abuse, the coma, coming to Loveland, my new job, my doctorate, you… I wouldn’t believe it.”

Victor watched me carefully, poker face in place. And for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t read his eyes.

“Alright.” He said, getting up and walking to the door. “Do you need a ride to the University?”

“Thanks, I’m taking my car, I need to-” And with that, I heard the door close behind him, leaving me talking to myself. And I wondered if we had actually been fighting. I simply couldn’t tell.

My routine at the university was a very simple one. During most mornings I would teach, and the afternoons were reserved for the research and occasional meetings with partners. I was thankful for the quiet morning, because I couldn’t focus at all, remembering every single sentence of our discussion, trying to see where things could have gone sour. Eventually, not able to find an answer, I stopped altogether.

After lunch, I went to my office to make a few phone calls regarding the new partnerships we were having at the moment. Unexpectedly, there was a knock on my door. It was Olive Carson, the Dean.

“Andrea, may we have a word?” She said, peeking from the door.

“Of course, come in, sit down.” I said, putting my phone down. “How can I help?”

“We have to discuss this new media exposure you’ve been having, regarding your relationship with Victor Lee.” She started, choosing her words carefully.

“Media exposure?” I frowned.

“Look, I know this is a very sensitive issue, and evidently you are not to blame for what happened to you, but no matter how unfair that exposure is, it is still exposure. And since your name is connected to the University’s now, it is our duty to make sure your exposure doesn’t reflect badly on us. As you understand, sooner or later we’ll have to make our professional relationship official and look for patrons to invest in your research, and any bad publicity will be prejudicial.”

“I’m sorry, Olive, I really don’t follow. What exactly are you talking about?” By that time, I was more than confused, I was starting to get scared.

“You haven’t seen it yet?” Olive asked. “That gossip magazine, Loveland’s Juiciest, published a whole article about you and your boyfriend. Apparently, you caught their attention at that fashion show. I personally choose to steer clear from that kind of literature, but when one of my researchers is involved… I have to pay attention.”

“Wait, Loveland’s…” My mind was reeling. “Ok, yes, me and Victor are in a relationship. Why would the patrons care for that?”

“Well, Mr. Lee spoke on your behalf when you defended your thesis. Some people may think his opinion was… biased.”

“And the results may be discredited.” I concluded, rubbing my forehead in distress. This was not happening. It simply couldn’t be happening.

“And affect our funding exponentially.” She added. “The abuse story is not helping either. I know your boyfriend is a very influential person, and he’s known to be extremely protective of his privacy… Maybe you can talk to him, see if you can make this matter go away, or at least contain it.”

I froze at her words. Did she say abuse? Did that magazine do a background check on me, and shared my abuse with the world? I got up in a hurry, preparing to leave.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I said, quickly gathering my things. “Do you mind if we finish this conversation later? I need to leave urgently. Please close the door behind you.”

Not waiting for her reply, I bolted to the closest magazine stand and bought a copy of the damn magazine. I held it with shaky hands, in my car, too scared to find out what was written.

I should have realized that the moment the paparazzi saw me with Victor, I would be a person of interest. After all, he was known to be the most desirable bachelor in Loveland that never gave any woman a second look. Obviously, they would be all over us. I was bound to end up under the limelight.

The article was titled Ice King or King of Hearts, and it spoke of how honorable and romantic Victor was, choosing to give his heart to true love, disregarding social status or background. And, to make it even more compelling and thorough, there was an entire page dedicated to me, with incredibly accurate facts. The author knew everything about me, my parents, my hobbies, and wrote a tear-jerking story about my abuse, including a picture of Daniel and the exposure it all had in the media back in Portugal, since he was the son of one of the most notorious bankers in Portugal.

My trauma, my darkest part of my life was right in front of me, printed in an elegant font, with pretty pictures to illustrate it. All that I had run from when I left Portugal had followed me to Loveland.

Unsure of what to do, I decided to go to my apartment to try and calm myself down before I did anything else. I couldn’t stay in that parking lot, making a scene. But I still had to fix this mess, and only one person could help me. But before I even considered talking to him, I needed to ground myself.

Victor seemed to have sensed my trouble, because as I drove home, he called me. At the time I was still a bit shaken, so I silenced my phone and dropped it on the passenger seat, deciding I would talk to him when I got home.

By the time I left the car, although a bit shaky, I had a plan. I would calm myself down, try and talk to my mother, and then call Victor and see what could be done. I had achieved so much already, I just needed to face this. Maybe now the world wouldn’t see me as just a victim. I just needed to be strong. I just needed a plan.

But no plan in the world could prepare me for what was coming next.

As I got to my floor, I saw a very familiar silhouette leaning on my door. And when that voice spoke to me in Portuguese, I knew my nightmare was far from being over.

“Hello, doll. Long time no see.” It was Daniel.

I went to my purse to get my phone. Shit! I had left it in the passenger seat. In my car. Downstairs.

Ok, Andrea. Calm down. Be smart.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in English, hoping someone would overhear me. “I don’t want you here.”

“Yet you speak English, our love language.” He answered in English. Daniel always insisted that I spoke English with him when we dated, it gave him a sense of… status. I hated that. “I told you, love, I had to see you. I missed you.”

“I have no interest in seeing you.” I tried to assert, although my heart was tight with fear. “Go away, Daniel.”

“Why? Why deny something so beautiful? Our love is cosmical, karmical, Andrea! No one can get in between us. Not even that boyfriend of yours.”

“So that’s how you found me?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “Some reporter told you where I was?” I paused, taking a deep breath. Still, I couldn’t help but grit my teeth hard in anger. “Our cosmic love, as you say, ended the moment you beat me to a pulp and left me in a coma.”

“No, no.” He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re not being fair, my love.” His sweet voice, his Let me patch you up after I beat you voice made me sick to my stomach. “You were trying to end it long before that, and you know it. I know I made a mistake, and no day goes by that I don’t think about it. But I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

I remained silent, trying to calculate my next move. I couldn’t go to my apartment, risking Daniel coming inside and hurting me in the secrecy of closed doors. I couldn’t run away either. No. Running away was not an option.

“My love for you is so big, can’t you see that?” He continued. “I sacrificed myself, I set you free. I gave you what you wanted, a chance to see how life would be without me. But I always knew you’d come back. When that reporter came to talk to me about our past, I knew that was your way of coming closer, you still want me. Why else would you send for me like that?” Daniel took a step closer. I reacted, taking a step back. “Come on, love, you know you missed me.”

“Are you high on something?” I laughed bitterly, not believing what I was hearing. This was another taste of crazy. “Listen to me carefully, Daniel, I don’t want you here. In fact, if you were living in another galaxy, you’d still be too close to me for my liking. Get out of here, before I call the police.”

Daniel’s sweet expression dissolved into an angry one. That was the real Daniel I knew, the one he only showed to the people he wanted to subdue. He gave me a snarly smile.

“Go ahead. It isn’t a crime to visit a friend. You’ll just make me want to come back for more.” Suddenly he was a lot closer, grabbing my arm. “You’re mine, Andrea.” He had a threatening look. “You belong to me. Don’t think you can run away from me just like that.” He whispered in my ear. “Wherever you go, I will always find you.”

“Do not touch me!” I yanked my arm from Daniel’s grip, but he was faster. Before I had any time to react, he grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against my door hard. I lost my breath for a moment.

“Now, why don’t we go inside? Be a good pussy and serve me some coffee, maybe with some ass on the side.” He whispered in my ear, his disgusting breath and maniacal voice making something break inside me.

“I said.” I threatened, calmly. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

“And what if I don’t? What’s a weak pussy like you going to do to stop me?”

Back in the day, his words would make me shrink, and act in repulse or disgust. But I was flooded with a sudden clarity I had never felt before. Not wasting any time, I punched him hard on the jaw, slamming my foot hard on his chest afterward, making him fly back and slam against the floor hard. He instinctively assumed a fetal position on the floor, trying hard to catch a breath. My kick must’ve cracked a couple of ribs, at least.

Suddenly, my vision was blocked by someone else’s body. Strong steady hands held my shoulders. And suddenly I realized that, when I was smacking Daniel, I had heard someone call my name.

“Did he hurt you?” Familiar grey eyes met mine. What was Victor doing here?

“I’m fine.” I said, releasing myself from his protection. “Daniel was just leaving, weren’t you sweetheart?” I asked, my voice dripping sarcasm.

“Just remember, doll.” Daniel threatened again, as he wiped some blood from his lip. “I broke you once. I can do that again.”

Victor turned to face him, his expression one I had never seen before. He looked like he was about to commit murder, his eyes fiery with anger. I grabbed his arm, squeezing it gently. He looked at me, and seeing me calm, he relaxed a little as well.

“You know, I thought you did break me. And I hated you for that.” I paused, and noticed the smirk Daniel gave me, pleased to have had such an effect on me. “But it turns out, I was wrong. You didn’t break me. I started over again.” I came a little closer, feeling Victor’s watchful eyes on me. “And I overcame all that you did to me. I created a bigger and better life for myself, and discovered I am stronger than I think and wiser than I look. But most important of all, I realized you can’t break me, not really. The only power you have over me is the one that I give you.”

Daniel’s expression was both of surprise and anger. He wanted to see me scared and helpless. He would find none of that in me. Thanks to my friends, my family, and Victor, I was strong again. More than I ever was. I felt unbreakable.

“I used to be terrified of you. You used to haunt my dreams, make me wake up in a cold sweat. And now that I can see you, the real you… You’re not scary anymore. You are pathetic. Trying to make people love you by using torture, because you don’t feel worthy of love. Trying to break them because you feel inferior, because, deep down, you know how pitiful you are.”

Daniel was a pathetic mess on the floor, blood mixing with tears of rage. I walked to my door, getting the key from my purse to open it. “Go back to Portugal. We’re done here.”

“I decide that! I decide when it’s over!” I heard his voice coming towards me. I turned back to defend myself if necessary, but saw nothing but Victor’s back, who had come between us.

“Listen to me carefully.” Victor warned. Daniel and Victor were about the same height, and still Victor towered over him dangerously. His eyes were menacing and full of rage, his expression feral, his tone clearly indicating he was not one to mess with. “You should be very careful. You may think your deeds will go unpunished, but I am watching you. I have been watching you for a while. And I know exactly what kind of scum you are.”

Victor paused, watching Daniel’s reaction. Daniel immediately shrunk another two inches under his hostile stare.

“If you come near her, if you even dare to be in the same city as her, I will make sure that your existence is pure torture, to say the least. I will find out about all your crimes, and I will make sure you pay dearly for them, bringing you agony ten times worse than what you caused. I will be your judge and executioner. I will make sure that, after I’m done to you, you are simply too weak, too helpless to hurt anyone else. That is my promise to you. And I always keep my promises.”

Daniel’s face was bright red, tears rolling down his face, his fists clenched in anger. But Daniel was a coward, so he would not dare face someone that would actually fight back. He slowly backed away, mumbling some empty threats, leaving us alone.

Without a second look back, I opened the door to my apartment and went in, Victor following me. As soon as I heard the click of the door closing, I found myself caught in a tight and warm embrace.

“He didn’t hurt me.” I whispered. “I’m fine.”

“I will be the judge of that.” I heard Victor’s hoarse voice close to my ear.

“Thanks for being here.” I released myself from his embrace, my hand running through his tie. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t answer any of my calls. I went to the university looking for you. Something happened.” Victor hesitated.

“The article about us. I already know. That’s why I came home.”

“I will take care of this.” Victor’s hands held my shoulders tight, as if to steady me. “This reporter… She’s out of a job, I guarantee.” The fury in his eyes almost made me feel sorry for those who would meet it. I almost feared for that reporter.

“The Dean says that this may hurt my research. The exposure… The fact that you and I are dating… may discredit my work.” I said, my voice hoarse.

“It won’t happen.” He looked me in the eyes, silently making the promise. “They are going to collect all the unsold magazines tonight. And we’ll take legal action against the publisher. We have a meeting with the lawyers tomorrow.” He looked at me, taking me in his arms again. “This won’t hurt you any more than it already has, I promise you. You can tell the Dean it has been taken care of. I’ll call her if you want to.”

“No…” I said, rubbing my forehead in distress. “I’ll talk to her. Thank you.”

Victor grabbed my hand and put it down, leaning his forehead against mine instead.

“We’ll get through this. Don’t worry.” He looked at me with soft eyes. “I’m here.”

I ran my hand over his cheek lovingly. Yes, he was here. I just couldn’t muster the happiness for it at that moment. I felt tired and numb. Victor looked at me with worried eyes.

“Let’s go home.” He said, holding me closer. “You need to rest. This was a stressful day.”

“I…” I sighed. “I prefer sleeping here today, if you don’t mind.”

Victor looked at me with a pained and confused expression.

“I’m not rejecting you.” I said, placing my hands on his chest, like I could somehow placate him. “I need this time to myself. I need to gather my thoughts. I am so thankful for your help, and I love you, but I need to be alone. I can think better when I’m alone.”

Victor seemed to relax slightly, although he didn’t look exactly pleased. He clearly didn’t understand it, but he was trying. He took my face in his hands and kissed me gently.

“Just remember, you don’t need to do things alone. I’m right here. I will always be here.”

#Growing Pains - Series #growingpains #victor x oc #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #love and producer #mister love queens choice

6 notes · View notes

a-very-fond-farewell · 4 years

Text

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 18/?

University AU: “Negative Space”

[ok so, self projection is a bitch, but I am petty to myself on a regular basis so it’s ok]

[title is from the Japanese concept “ma”, which Wikipedia describes as:

“a Japanese word which can be roughly translated as ‘gap’, ‘space’, ‘pause’ or ‘the space between two structural parts.’ In traditional Japanese arts and culture, ma is more carefully defined as the suggestion of an interval. It is best described as a consciousness of a sense of place, with the ‘intervals’ suggested often being more than simple gaps, instead focusing on the intention of a negative space in an art piece.

Ma is not necessarily an art concept created by compositional elements, such as the literal existence of a negative space. Instead, the intention is often to create the perception of an interval in the viewer experiencing the elements forming an art piece, making maless reliant on the existence of a gap, and more closely related to the perceived experience of a gap.

Ma has also been described as ‘an emptiness full of possibilities, like a promise yet to be fulfilled’, and as ‘the silence between the notes which make the music’.”

Fun fact: “ma” also means “but” in Italian, which is what usually follows whatever intrusive thought may plague my mind. Eg: “I may be useless now, BUT just you wait until I get some dopamine to get me through this shitty times.”]

Wei Ying never asked for much in his life. He’s content with cleaning classrooms and toilets and nobody can beat him at wiping the marble floors if he works hard enough. Granny Wen, his supervisor, is slightly impressed with his ability to make the wood shine for ages to come. His nephew Jin Ling sometimes comes to check on him when he’s done with senior classes or cram school in the evening, and together they sit down and listen to whatever his older friends in music production came up with during the day. Jiang Cheng occasionally would ask him to keep him company while he grades papers and they bitch about ZiXuan and his inability to dote on their sister. The cafeteria ladies are always nice to him and they give him extra congee because they worry for his questionable consumption of spice products.

He’s fine, really.

So why can’t he stop wandering over to the science building these days? Looking for a clean board to use, for an equation to finally solve? Even if in the end he just takes the chalk in hand and simply stares down at the inky surface in front of him, unable to write. His mind working on a software too advanced for the hardware that constitutes his brain.

Thirteen years. It has been already thirteen years and yet it feels like yesterday, or like it never happened at all. Like it has yet to be. Time blindness is a bitch to deal with, yet dyscalculia and ADHD makes a joke out of you when you love math on a visceral level... but you burned too bright too fast and now you function on no data and with an even shittier signal. Having a burnout at 23 should have taught him humility instead of pride, but Wei Ying has always worked out of spite and certain habits are difficult to forget.

Couldn’t put the number in the right order, switching digits left and right since he was young? Fine. Numbers were concepts anyway, entire civilizations working their magic without even knowing what “zero” stood for. A brain steaming with a million ideas per second? Good. New connections brimming with ideas he could use to better the world.

It worked fine until he let himself down. Until he became a useless empty lighter, a wet match tossed out, carbon monoxide in the air.

Dropped out before finishing his very ambitious, highly dangerous for his psyche, thesis project. Aunt Yu never forgave him for that, not after paying for his advanced classes, not after trusting Uncle Jiang and supporting him despite his many flaws. What good is being first of your class every year, poster child of a teaching system done right, graduating bachelor at 21, if you can’t finish your master at 23 and get your PhD at 25 and start teaching by 27 and drive yourself insane in the process?

Wei Ying dropped out and didn’t finish his master, didn’t enroll in the teaching program, and let everyone down. His Uncle and Aunt looking down on him, whether out of pity or shame. Jiang Cheng may have been the one leaving him behind, but he used to be the one saying “you should have tried harder”. YanLi worrying over him when she should have focused on her career first. Jin Ling growing up with stories of his uncle “not being worth the money put into his education”, taught to not disappoint and make his family proud. The Jin side, that is.

And now the kid comes crawling in defeat to him instead of Jiang Cheng after bombing a test in high school. And they chat of what he would like to do and how much he likes sports and how much he despises the idea of getting a scholarship for that and being called stupid or something by his classmates. And he cries when he thinks Wei Ying cannot see him as he leaves the campus late at night.

Wei Ying didn’t even want to solve that impossible theorem he fixated on in his early twenties. His thesis project was inconsequential in the great scheme of things and his professor only wanted him to be his one trick pony in the end. No. Wei Ying wanted to teach math in elementary school, hell... even in kindergarten. He wanted to change the approach to the subject. Because numbers cannot be taught like language is and there are many ways to teach how to sum up digits and divide quantities and there are no rules on how to make sense of space either.

But how can he teach when even time eludes his senses?

Something that nobody can define, but certainly most perceive as linear... but not him. Not since his brain fried up in his attempt to function like a normal human being.

After thirteen years nothing has changed.

Until one day he hears something else aside from his usual intrusive thoughts and burdensome memories. A melody so quiet he almost mistakes it for the wind, coming from the music building.

He walks slowly, night surrounding him like the embrace of a friend as he makes his way to the traditional musical instruments room. The one where Jin Ling’s friends meet sometimes as they wait for the younger boy to join them. Wei Ying holds his breath as he spies through the gap of the door left ajar, neon light slicing his face like moonbeams as he peeks in and recognizes Jin Ling’s friends and another figure sitting on the ground, guqin on their knees.

But before he can lean in and breathe in the vibrant sounds all around, the door opens and music theory Professor Lan finds Wei Ying clutching his mop for dear life.

They said the man could see colors within the notes, that he despises language outside of his class or office and that only his brother, the history of art TA, could convince him to talk every now and then.

If numbers were created to measure space, Wei Ying firmly believed music had been invented to make sense of time and count its seconds in rhythm and notes, pauses and beats. Yet, time seems to stretch to a stop as the janitor focuses all of his attention on professor Lan’s stern face and his heart quickens its pace.

Wei Ying takes a rushed breath and dives right in with a weird sense of hope pumping in his veins. A small, timid voice whispering that life is not made to be atoned, but to move on and grow.

One step at a time.

“I’m Wei Ying, Professor Lan. May I listen while you play?”

Yes, maybe it will be enough just to let time flow at its pace.

Whatever rhythm that may be.

[some hcs down below]

WWX does not magically solve the math theorem. he may or may not help kids figure out how to use numbers on the long run tho. no, he will still work as a janitor and there’s nothing wrong with that.

yes, LWJ is autistic and stimms and finds WWX’s honesty soothing. yes, you can add your hcs on the matter. he has synesthesia, but more on the grapheme-color side of the deal than anything else and he sees certain letters/numbers/notes in different colors. people think he can see colors in music, but they misunderstood and thought he could recognize different hues while listening to music instead of reading it.

JC has grown since his uni years and doesn’t resent WWX anymore. he teaches astrophysics as a TA and doesn’t pressure his brother to pick his studies up anymore. WWX has mixed feelings about this: he feels he’s a lost cause, to the point not even his brother spurs him to best himself anymore, but he is grateful for the patience anyway.

LXC is the official LWJ translator of the campus along with their cousins SiZhui and JinGyi. he bonds with WWX and JC over how tired they are, seldom staring at flies roaming above them in the cafeteria bc none of them can even move. he lives on caffeine and regrets, but he’s getting better as he develops a love for his plant babies and tries to not let them die on a daily basis.

Wen Ning and Wen Qing are little overachievers and adrenaline junkies, hence their competitive streak on their way to their third master degree just for funsies. they scare people with how driven they are, but the juniors love them.

NMJ is the one to go to if you need to get away with murder, but JGY will actually be the one helping you dispose of the body. the fact that they both work in criminal law is somewhat both reassuring and disquieting. they hate each other and yet cannot stop hang out, they are close to 40 and need the rivalry to keep going anyway. nothing beats a good nemesis. not even sex. maybe.

NHS has failed his entrance exam to become a nurse too many times to count, but he is determined to see the end of it. even if he could potentially work in the family business, but he doesn’t know anything about managing an empire of bricks and he doesn’t care. if NMJ could run away, well, so can he.

MianMian is Wei Ying’s bestie and has the biggest crush on JGY’s sister A-Su the kindergarten teacher, but since they are childhood besties she doesn’t know how to approach her. she is Jin Ling’s idol and a certified boxer and refers to herself as a useless bisexual. Wei Ying boxes with her sometimes, she always win.

YanLi is an equestrian mum, but in the best way possible: she coaches children for shows and teaches them horses should be loved and feared equally and that if you want to shoot arrows from a running horse you should always, ALWAYS let go of the stirrups the moment the beast gets too unhinged to ride. JC fears her, WWX is only glad she didn’t train police dogs for a living.

ZiXuan actually loves his wife, but WWX and JC question his career choices and the fact that he’s a retired lawyer spending his family fortune while he’s a stay-at-home dad and does all the housework. WWX and JC believe he should give their sister a better life and work his ass off to deserve her, but he does make amazing rice cakes and keeps up with Jin Ling’s studies and is very supportive of his dreams.

A-Qing and Song Lan are siblings and sometimes bring JC food from the campus cafeteria where they both work at, while Xiao XingChen and his carer Xue Yang work with LXC for a project on accessibility for visually impaired visitors of the local museum. JC and LXC work to make Song Lan and Xiao XingChen fall for each other, but the youngsters are too protective to let them play matchmaker so easily.

[this is all for now. please, if you want, add your own headcanons!]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs/au: modern #mdzs/au: uni #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #nieyao #xicheng #wangxian

14 notes · View notes

tomhollandish · 5 years

Text

Always Like This

A/N: After maybe two years of never writing anything, I’m back for @pparkerwrites writing challenge! This is my magnum opus, clocking in at 14k, and it’s inspired by Studio Ghibli’s Whisper of the Heart, The Louvre by Lourde, the prompt “I wish we could stay like this forever”, and my own anxiety about finishing college and growing older.

Summary: As you begin wrapping up your final year in college, you have some wishes, fears and regrets. This is the story of how you overcame all of them, with a little help from your friends. Platonic!Avengers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, mentions of past Bruce Banner x Reader and Quentin Beck x Reader (Yeah, I know,)

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of (public) sex, and the reader being an anxious wreck

Word count: 14k (my bad)

* * * *

There is a tap once, twice, three times against the plastic cubicle, but your attention is elsewhere. As you breathe heavily, you can still see the black and white pages of your latest research endeavor printed underneath your eyelids. You swim in the words, trying to pick out what you can even comprehend when the rapping becomes less gentle.

“’Tis some visitor,” you recited, mumbling out the lines of a poem you’d once memorized. “Rapping at my chamber door.”

“It’s campus police,” the visitor said, and you fumbled to sit up properly. The harsh florescent lights made your eyes bleed, and the ugly khaki uniform of the man hovering over you was just as terrible a sight.

“Fuck,” you cursed, and then upon realizing that you just cursed in front of an officer (a glorified security worker, but you weren’t about to take pot shots right now), you covered your mouth. “I’m sorry, I just–”

“I just need your ID.” He smiled politely and you squirmed under the gesture.

“Right.”

You found it wholly ridiculous that this man was carding you in your campus library at—what time was it? —three in the morning as if you could be anyone other than a student. No sane person would be doing this without reason, and even so your reasons were wearing incredibly thin as your shitty bachelor’s degree grew closer into your clutches.

A bachelor’s degree in English? What will you even do with that?

Doesn’t matter what it’s in. It just matters that I’ve got it.

You didn’t want to spend four years doing something you hated. (With your bullshit Liberal Arts Program, it was really only two years of English, but who was counting?) You thought it would be easy to just pick up some desk jobs that would pay the bills once you graduated. But then you decided to grow noble and have an ambition and things rapidly changed.

The officer handed your card back to you. His eyes flitted over to the mess of a work station you had, before giving a pitying smile. “Long night huh? Haven’t seen you stay here this late in a while.”

Goosebumps ran up your arm. You tried to play it cool, painting on a smile as you wracked your brain for familiarity. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“No, not really. I’ve been working this shift for maybe two years, and you’re on this floor a lot at night. I just, uh, remember you.”

“Uh,” you blinked, unable to answer. The odds of this guy remembering you were like, twenty thousand to one. And while you were a regular patron of the third floor (it is the film section after all) it seemed unlikely that someone could pick out your face.

The guard seemed to understand that he’d stumped you, so he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly and moved on. Still stunned, you stared back at the pile of books across the table and groaned at the thought of continuing. It was late, and you had class at ten the next morning. The very class you were doing all this work for.

You sighed deeply and pondered whether or not to call it a night—it was only the third week of the fall semester and you were already working like a dog. There was a terrible feeling in your gut that if you didn’t save your energy for later, it would bite you in the ass.

Settling for checking out one last book, you scribbled down its call number and pulled yourself out of the mini cubicle, heading for the stacks. As you made your way you noticed that there were really only a few other people with you, many of them with their heads ducked into textbooks or laptops, engrossed in their own worlds.

The people began to fade away as the rows and rows of books dominated the room. You looked up and down between your notebook as you stomped through sections, passing anatomy, then biology before glancing at American literature. You ducked down one row, fingers grazing every book as you mumbled the call number under your breath, afraid it would escape you.

Finally, you knelt down, wincing as your knees cracked audibly in the quiet library. Sitting on the bottom shelf like it had been waiting on you for eons was the book in question; an innocuously black bound book, the title in plain white letters on the spine. A library reprint. You opened it, just be sure it was the exact copy you were looking for, when you realized something.

Someone had annotated this copy. Your school didn’t charge damages for writing in library books, but this person seemed to have written paragraphs worth of content between margins and on blank pages. It was the kind of analysis that could only belong to someone taking it very seriously; perhaps a fellow film studies major.

But the writing wasn’t mesmerizing because it was insightful, rather, it was because you recognized it. You stomped your way back to your seat with purpose, looking for the other companion novel; a newer, cleaner, bigger book and yet, as you flipped the pages you caught glimpses of the handwriting—legible, but obviously a quick scrawl. The e’s were always connected to the letter after it, and the m’s were hardly definable squiggles, but it was still nice to look at.

As you’d combed your way through these books, you’d found their handwriting more than once. They usually echoed the sentiment you’d been trying to capture, but they had done so first. It had discouraged you at first, thinking yourself a simple copy-cat, but it later comforted you that someone shared your ideals.

It was wishful thinking to wonder about them. Useless and distracting.

You still entertained the thought.

The whole trip back to your dorm, you busied yourself with thoughts of them–their major, if they had graduated already or if they were still here; what if you shared a class with them, or better yet, if you knew them? Your mind filled with romantic possibilities as your body took you through the process of getting you home—a maneuver you could pull in your sleep.

Once at home, you forgot all the formalities of bedtime routines and simply stripped down, crashing straight into bed. Sleep would overcome you in any moment, but in your last fleeting moments of consciousness you dreamed of flipping pages and handwriting.

* * * *

If college were a racket, you’d be fucking rich.

You’ve been at the same shit for nearly two decades, and still you felt like you were the absolute best at it. Sure, you weren’t top of the class (probably not even close) but your professors loved you and other students made the effort to know your name. You weren’t the obnoxious teacher’s pet, nor were you class clown, but people acknowledged your existence, which was honestly more than you could ever ask for.

It was moments like these when you thought twenty thousand a year (all in loans!) might have been worth it; you were talking with your professor—whom you called Kyle with the ease of an old friend—after class about some nonsense that had happened over the weekend, about the movies you had watched recently, and about school.

You felt a strange bittersweetness as he began to talk about your undergraduate thesis again, bringing up all the regalia that your presentations entailed. Maybe he noticed your sudden hesitation at the topic, because he stopped speaking and hummed.

“You’ve already started working on it, haven’t you?” It was a confirmation, but there was still a layer of trepidation to his voice you couldn’t decipher. You nodded, but it didn’t disappear. “You’re far more prepared than the others.”

“I’ve been thinking about this since sophomore year,” you confessed. “It’s nerve wracking, thinking about the presentation, but I like the topic.”

“When you blurted out your thesis during the first meeting, I think everyone wanted to kill you,” he laughed. “But as I’ve gotten to know you, I’m not surprised at all. You always know what you want.”

There was a lull then—a moments hesitation where you wanted to bluntly correct Kyle and tell him that you didn’t actually know what you wanted, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead you smiled, and took that silence as a good place as any to end the conversation and quickly walk out of the room as the reality of your situation crashed back into you.

Staring at the tiles beneath your feet, you tried not to trip over your own mental leaps. Everything came folding in on itself as you thought of the upcoming semesters like the end of an era; the last of your eighteen years of education. Anxiety crept up your spine like a chill, and you felt yourself gripping your books tighter to keep from shaking.

And them something jammed into your shoulder, hard, the books in your hand spilling all over the floor. You grumbled to yourself, thinking you’d clumsily walked into a wall, but then you heard “Um, hello?”

Fear struck your heart as you turned to face someone: a boy, looking at you with knotted brows and his arms open with the expectation of an apology. Your fear turned to annoyance as you studied details like his tiny, low ponytail, his navy-blue blazer and the copy of The Sound and The Fury clutched in his hand.

You looked back at his face, painted with clear annoyance and spat out a half-assed, “sorry,” topped with a fake smile. His animosity was near palpable as he heel turned and kept walking, leaving you to pick up your things alone. You muttered under your breath angrily.

“Asshole, English Major Prick.”

* * * *

It was ironic to call the boy you’d bumped into earlier an asshole, considering who you spent your time with.

Your Monday/Wednesday afternoon schedule ended with a late as hell lunch with some old friends. Emphasis on old, because you were pretty sure after your major switch you had nothing in common with these men anymore.

“And what I’m telling you,” Tony Stark punctuated with a wave of his hands, “is that there’s no way Beck’s design would even theoretically work, let alone should Dr. “MIT graduate” allow him to continue with this completely doomed to fail idea.” He pointedly took a bite of the (likely now cold) pasta he’d spent ten minutes raving over before spitting it out onto a napkin. “God, what the fuck is up with this cafeteria?”

“Maybe if you would shut up for ten seconds, your food would still be warm.” You never had any clue what the self-proclaimed genius was ever talking about. It was a wonder you considered him a friend still, but even his annoying tendencies couldn’t break the brotherhood you all had from sharing the shittiest dorm on campus freshman year. You felt like you still owed Tony a debt for killing that roach in your shower all those years ago.

“I agree with Y/N, for once.” You side eyed Strange, wondering if there was some sort of punchline, but then he gave a nod of solidarity. “You’ve been complaining about this guy non-stop.”

“Beck is just,” Tony banged his fists on the table, shaking every one of your trays. “So infuriating. Y/N, how did you ever fuck this guy?”

“Stop,” Bruce says, his arms hovering over his drink and other objects that might fall over. “Tony, I’m begging you to let this go.”

“See, even Bruce admits he’d tired of this. Can we move on please?”

“Oh? Tired of me bring up your ex in front of your ex?”

“Tony, knock it off,” Bruce warned, but there was no threat in his voice. Tony dropped the subject, but still looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Or do you have any exciting developments in…what is it you do again?”

You threateningly held out your fork towards the engineering major and he flinched. “I’m about to major in murder if you don’t Shut. Up.”

The three science majors stopped their babbling and hurriedly shoveled their food into their mouths. You sighed into your cup of powered lemonade. While you were used to Tony’s jabs, he was right: your future felt inconsequential next to their aspirations. But you would be damned if you let either him or Stephen Strange know that you felt that way.

Bruce laced his fingers together and fidgeted for a moment. You turned to him, and he smiled nervously. “So, how’s your paper coming along?”

There was another awkward pause as you sipped your drink, trying to come up with something impressive or dramatic enough to hold their attention. And then you rolled your eyes at the thought. “Well, I’m at the part of the process where I sit in the library until my mind goes numbingly blank from staring at an empty word document or director interviews or companion books and then I go home and never sleep.” You said honestly. This earned a laugh out of Tony.

“English Majors: They’re just like us!” he joked.

“That fact that you think college majors are equivalent to high school cliques is very telling of your immaturity,” you sneer at Tony. He throws a fake smile at you—not that any of his smiles are ever real.

“Psychoanalyze me all you want, Dickinson,”—his habit of calling you whatever writer came to his mind was also telling— “But the fact is, the three of us are more like each other than we are to you. It’s just facts.”

You looked to Bruce for a moment. Like always, he was on the same wavelength as you—he averted his gaze the moment you two locked eyes. “Be that as it may, we’re still friends somehow.”

“‘Somehow’ being the operative word,” Strange spoke under his breath. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Not my fault the three of you are giving into society’s capitalist ways and are only in it for the money.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tony says, dropping his fork in his barely touched food. He purposefully scoots his chair back with a grating noise and you wince at the sound. “Y/N, I can’t handle you when you’re like this.”

You huffed. “Now you know how we feel about you all the time.”

“I’m done with this discussion. Strangelove, Brucey,” he acknowledges his friends by their stupid nickname before rolling out. Strange sighs before following his lead, but Bruce stays put.

“He’s sensitive about that.”

You shrugged. “Then maybe he should try going into a career that helps people instead. No ones making him become a money mongering executive.”

“You know what his dad is like.”

“Yeah, rich.”

Bruce dragged his hands down his face, but there was a chuckle underneath his exasperation. “Your coldness is honestly so incredible. Aren’t writers supposed to be compassionate?”

“I am compassionate,” you stated defensively. And then, more flippantly, “Just not to rich industrialists who steal from the middle class.”

You laughed when Bruce shook his head at you. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So are you,” you said, nudging his shoulder with your own. There was nothing in the gesture, not like there used to be. “I mean, you want to be a nuclear physicist, or whatever. Ain’t nothin in that but prestige and your name on same wall.”

“You know that’s not what I want.” He used that voice, the one you’d become intimately familiar with towards the end of your relationship. “I just want to pursue something I’m passionate about. Isn’t that what you want too?”

The fruit under your fork slid out and rolled across the table. Both of your eyes followed it as it fell out of sight, and then you said nothing. Bruce sighed.

“I didn’t mean too—”

“Yeah you did.”

The buzzing of your phone jolted you two out of the tense moment. You lifted it up, seeing a message from Steve. You felt Bruce’s eyes peering over at your phone.

“You got to go?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you there.”

“No, Tony’s probably waiting for you outside. He’ll just follow both of us if you don’t go with him.”

He pursed his lips, caught between a rock and a hard place. He looked up at you as you prepared to leave.

“I really didn’t mean it.”

“Even if you didn’t, you’re right.” It wasn’t hard to admit anything to Bruce, even after everything. “You’re damn good at it too.”

He tried to swallow back his bashful smile, but there was still a shimmer of it in his eyes. “You’re good at what you do, too.”

“Well, after four years, I’d fucking hope so.”

Bruce laughed through his goodbye, and you reveled in that small victory as you booked it to the art building.

* * * *

Perhaps it’s the creative part of you, but a piece of your heart fully adored that decrepit, godforsaken building. The elevator was broken, the hallways were a rotating gallery of amateur and professional projects, and it always smelled like some sort of chemical, but the building has charm.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Steve stopped in his tracks to look at you when you said that. He’d been guiding you through the labyrinth known as Bauer Hall with a well-trained quickness. He resumed it after the initial shock of your statement wore off. “You’re a real romantic, you know that?”

“I do,” you said, knowing there was no way to defend yourself from such a true statement. “But so are you.”

“There’s only so many things I can romanticize, and I have to say, Bowser Hall ain’t one of them.” You laughed through your nose at the ridiculous nickname. “Besides, I’m all romanced out.”

Steve walked through a room lined with canvases bigger than the both of you. In different corners students painted in different styles, with different elaborative brush strokes that revealed their subjects in a matter of moments. Someone’s music played from a wireless speaker, but you imagined everyone had tuned it out.

Steve lead you to his station, which was currently covered with photos of you. It was embarrassing to see yourself plastered all over his desk, but as you studied to pictures closer, you became enthralled.

“Is it narcissistic to compliment how awesome these looks?” Awesome didn’t even encapsulate the emotion. Not by a long shot. Over the summer Steve had approached you about featuring in his senior art show pieces, and you’d shot preliminary photos. He couldn’t guarantee that he’d paint you given the complexity of his idea (as well as his own perfectionism) but now he was promising that he would paint you.

So, you stared down at the photos, remembering the how he’d climbed onto your roof at night and shined a flashlight taped with blue gels through your window and you tried not to laugh. The fruits of that night where in your fingertips, and you were struck at how much more somber your face looked on a physical photo than it had on the camera that night.

“It’s not narcissistic considering Nat took the photo,” he said, leaning over your shoulder. He rummaged through the stack before he pulled out a specific picture. “I think I’m going with this one.”

“Of course you are,” you poked fun at him, but you actually did like that photo. The light that shined across your eyes was blue, but you were shrouded in a hazy purple. It was a close shot, with your hands framing the expression on your face that was equal parts haunting and beautiful. Steve had been trying to capture those hard-to-explain moments that crossed people’s faces, and yours had been the most agonizing. In his words.

“With most people it takes forever to get the shot. You got it in one.” There was veiled concern in his statement, but you’re a master of words. You drop the photo and step back from it all, looking at Steve.

“Wasn’t hard,” was all you told him. Steve took the photo and tacked it up to a ready to paint canvas.

“I’m thinking about using these two as well.” Steve handed you two other photos of different subjects, only one of which you really know.

“When’d you take this?” You flipped over the photo Sam, his face caught precisely between elation and realization. Steve took it gingerly before sitting back on his stool. You wished he could paint the look of utter longing that plagued his own blue eyes.

“He got the deployment letter that morning,” Steve explained. His voice was low as he talked through the lump in his throat. “I asked him to pose for me, because I knew when I saw his face that I wanted to capture whatever the hell it was I just saw.”

“He’s used to being your guinea pig. I’m sure he liked knowing he’s the inspiration for your project.”

“He’ll probably hold it over my head ‘till I die,” Steve managed a laugh, but it was hollow. The sigh he took afterwards could have cracked his ribs.

“It’ll be a great gift, you know? A huge photo of his favorite thing—himself.” His laugh this time was slightly more genuine. You’d have to take it.

“Who’s this?” You showed Steve the second photo, one of a man whose face was marred with the shadow of blinds, his eyes looking back as if it pained him to. Nat was a wonderful photographer, and Steve had an amazing vision, but you knew Steve well enough to know that whoever this was, the look was all his own.

“Oh, that’s Buck,” he said easily, and you lean forward as a gesture to elaborate. “Bucky, my best friend?”

“Not ringing any bells.”

“Hmm. You probably don’t know him because he was in Prague the semester we became friends.” Steve had been part of your freshman dorm nightmare, but he lived on a different floor than the rest of you. You didn’t get to know him until you realized Nat was a mutual friend.

“Did he spend a whole year there?” You leaned forward and stared at the picture, trying to find any recollection of this guy. “Cause it’s been like, a year since then.”

“No, but he did have an internship when he came back, I’d forgotten about that.”

You dropped the photo, feeling jealousy prickle down your arms. “Wow. Busy guy.”

“He tries to keep himself busy. Otherwise he looks like that all the time.” You understood the implication. You pinned the photos next to each other and contemplated just how Steve was going to recreate them in all their glory. He seemed to have the same thought, because he ran a hand through his hair.

“It really will take me all semester, but I’m excited.” He bounced on his feet. “I think I’ve found my thing.”

“Your thing?”

“Yeah, my niche, I guess,” he shrugged, but his excitement was contagious. “It’s good to be excited about something again.”

“I’m glad you love your project, because it’s going to turn out amazing,” you assured him.

“Thanks. I started Sam’s painting already and it wore me out. I think I’ll start on Buck’s next. Sorry,” he shot you an apologetic grin. “I’m just tired of looking at the same colors.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me for anything,” you said earnestly. “I totally get it. In fact, I think I’ve taken a long enough break on my own work.” You backed away from the blank canvas and glossy photos, feeling claustrophobic all of a sudden. “It’s no masterpiece, but.”

“Hey, your writing is always incredible. I read that paper you wrote about the mis-en-scene of Art Cinema.” He recited with your work with such ease, it made you blush. “You’re really good at writing., Y/N.”

“You remembered.” You tried to laugh off the little swell of pride in your chest. “You’re sweet, Steve, but this is a lot more than a three-page writeup.”

“If it’s yours, it’ll be great. What’s your thesis again?”

“The politics of monster movie horror films.” When you told him, Steve shook his head with a proud grin.

“See? That’s brilliant!”

“It’s been done before—”

“Everything’s been done before. But you haven’t done this. You’re smart, you love movies, and you’re the most well rounded, analytical person I know. You’ve got this.”

You wanted to run back and give him the clingiest hug of your life, but instead you swung bashfully on the doorframe. “Thank you for your support, Steve, but I have to at least write it first.”

He waved you off. “Fine. Go, be great.”

You felt something unidentifiable rise in your stomach as you left, the knot only growing bigger and bigger until you reached the library. You wanted to exhale it out of your chest as you pushed the up button in the elevator, but it stayed stuck in your throat instead. You decided to leave it be as you settled into one of the plastic cubicles on the third floor, your home for the foreseeable future.

* * * *

Anxiety. That had been the feeling.

It gnawed at your stomach and in return you gnawed at your lip, thinking about Steve’s success as an artist and Bruce’s summer spent applying to grad schools. The future was in sight for both of them while yours was blocked by your laptop screen, showing you the three pages you had done out of the twenty you needed.

Angrily, you slammed the computer screen down and shoved it into your bag. The buzzing overhead light made red spots dance in your eyes even when you closed them, so you figured it was time for a break.

And by “break”, you meant spending the fifteen minutes between your apartment and the library trying to reword the sentence that had been bugging you over and over again. You were so out of it that when you opened your apartment door you were in shock of all the people sitting in your living room, despite having seen all their cars parked out in front.

Someone’s greeting went whizzing by you, but it’s only after the door slammed shut did you piece together that it was Pietro. The rest of the group chorused “Hi Y/N” with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“Hey, sorry they’re so loud,” Wanda pulled her cardigan close when she crossed her arms, smiling uncertainly at you. “I won’t have them here too late.”

“Nah, they’re fine,” you brushed off, slipping out of your uncomfortable shoes. You hated the fall—it always encouraged your terrible habit of style over function. “I’m just here for a quick costume change then it’s back to the ol’ grind.”

Normally Wanda would chuckle at your ridiculous phrases, but she creased her brows when she continued talking. “Actually, we were thinking of grabbing some food. Pietro’s bulking, or doing some other stupid diet and Viz thought we could go back to the diner. You know, the one on the corner of 11th?”

Oh, you knew the 11th street diner. It was the premier spot; you’d been there on dates, 21st birthdays, celebrated there after long arduous projects, and gorged on fries after movie marathons with Peter. The sheer mention of the diner was enough to make you swoon, and Wanda was likely exploiting that weakness.

So, when you sighed, her eyes lit up. “I’m sorry,” you said, watching as her shoulders deflated. Your heart broke at the sight. “I have to work on this paper. It’s—”

“Your senior thesis, I know, but. Y/N when was the last time you ate?”

You had the audacity to look defensive. “I ate with Bruce and Tony earlier today.”

“I saw Bruce and I asked him. He said you only ate a bowl of fruit and some lemonade.”

Snitch. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“You need to take a break from your work or you’re going to burn out.”

The sound that came out of your mouth was harsh and condescending. “I’m already a burnout, Wanda. I’ll be fine. Have fun at the diner.” You dodged the rest of her questions by slipping into your room and closing the door. As you hurried into a sweatshirt and old jeans, you heard the gang walk out of the house and leave you in silence. You checked to see if the apartment was empty before grabbing your things and locking up.

You planned on daydreaming the rest of the way back to the library, but the sound of a bicycle following you made your hair stand on end. When you turned to see who it was, you relaxed the grip on your pepper spray.

“Fucking hell, Parker,” you chastised as the teenager as he hopped off his bike and came up to walk beside you. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“You looked like you were going to shank me,” he laughed, falling into stride with you. Regardless of his own destination, Peter would always ditch his own path to walk with you, day or night. The night part was incredibly sweet and chivalrous. “Where are you going anyways?”

“Library,” you said curtly. You were tired of explaining yourself. “You?”

“Came back from MJ’s, I’m heading home.” Peter still lived on campus due to his scholarship, and frankly, you were a little envious. It would be amazing to live seven minutes from the library again.

“How is the new girlfriend?” The smile in your voice made Peter roll his eyes.

“MJ’s fine. She’s in abnormal psych and she hates it because it’s too basic for her.”

“Ugh, yeah I took that class. But it’s a prerec for—”

“Psychopathology,” you two said simultaneously. “She told me.”

“If she wants, she can have my old notes from the class.”

Peter quirked his brow. “You still have them?”

You shrugged. “I keep all my old notebooks.”

“Why?”

The question was simple, but you felt yourself pondering the answer for longer than you’d care to admit. Why did you keep all that old stuff? You never went back and studied any of it, so it was essentially junk. Yet you treasured it like a childhood keepsake.

“I don’t know,” you lied, completely aware that you felt exposed by Peter’s question and embarrassed by the real answer. “I thought they’d come in handy one day. Looks like I was right.”

Peter looked at you, and it struck you how similar the expression was to the one Bruce had given you earlier. When he’d asked you about passion and doing what you wanted.

He seemed to drop the topic, because when he opened his mouth again, he said, “I don’t think she needs it, considering how much she loves that kind of stuff, but thanks for offering.”

You only hum in acknowledgment, spending the rest of your walk together listening to the cars passing by and the soft clicks of Peter’s bike chains; sounds that had plagued you since sophomore year.

After this year, you’d never hear them again.

You bit your lip to keep from sighing. Peter would surely ask you what was wrong, but you couldn’t admit all this to him. He had way too much on his plate, between his honors scholarship, his biochemistry major and his job running the Photo Lab, it was a wonder he even spent time with you.

There was no way to tell Peter you missed him without spilling your guts, and you were too tired and too scared to say it. So instead you made a joke when you parted ways, and spent too much time in your head worrying about what you should’ve said.

And if you’d been paying attention instead, you wouldn’t have bumped into someone for the second time that day. This time the person had spilled all their books, a large stack of hardbacks that scattered in the doorway.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” you said, not looking them in the eye. You crouched down to help them pick up their books, but when you placed The Essentials of Faulkner into someone’s hand, you looked up.

The blue eyes were soft on yours for a brief moment before recognition sparked in them. The man furrowed his brows before standing to his full height, which towered over you even when you stood too.

“You again,” he said, arrogance still pronounced. The English Major Prick.

Your blood pressure seemed to spike with anger. “Hey, I said I was sorry.”

“I’m mostly just shocked at my odds,” he said. “I must be the unluckiest person in this whole university to get knocked over by the same spaced-out girl twice.”

“One,” you glared, “I didn’t knock you over, my shit fell the first time. Second of all, you could also avoid me, ya know.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“Hey,” a third party cut through your arguing. Someone walked around you two, flicking his middle finger at the both of you. “People have to fucking walk here.”

“Mind your business, asshole!” you whisper-yelled, and at the same time the English Major Prick said “Take a fucking hike, buddy!”

You were about to stare at him, but he was already disappearing into the pitch blackness. You shook off the encounter and headed back up to your regular post on the third floor.

Determined to actually get farther than before, you treaded through the floor stacks, searching up and down for the theory books you needed. One such book you found on your first stop, flipping through the index to find the pages you were looking for. A flash of blue caught your eye, and marked all over the page was the mysterious handwriting, like in the books from before.

“Huh,” you said, wondering what the odds were that you had checked out the exact same books as this person. It was unbelievable, and quite fantastical, if you were honest, but here it was; their handwriting in your hands once again.

“I wonder if I’ll find you, mystery person,” you lamented, before closing the book and carrying on.

* * * *

Weeks passed by in a similar haze: you would spend your days pretending to take notes while in reality you were highlighting sentences in articles, re-wording paragraphs and rearranging structures in your head. Mid-terms came and went, stringing you out even further. Time was unraveling at the seams, only stitching itself together when you needed to know what day it was or where to be.

Everyone around you seemed to be planning for something though; whether it was grad school or lining up jobs, or even something as simple as graduation, their eyes were on some far away prize while you could barely visualize waking up the next day.

Kyle noticed this. “You look awful,” he’d said, after he begged you to stay and talk after class. You rolled your eyes.

“Is that all you wanted?”

“No,” he said pointedly. “But it is concerning. You’ve been working on your paper?”

‘Working’ was both an understatement and a gross misuse. “I’ve been staring at the screen wondering why it doesn’t sound like I know it can.”

“That’s the dilemma of the author,” Kyle chuckled, but you were too numb to respond. “Tell you what. When you come in for your advising,”—he put emphasis on the word because he knew you hadn’t signed up for a time slot yet— “bring your essay and I’ll edit it. Sound fair?”

“You know it’s still a first draft,” you whined, mostly to hide the dread that bubbled in your throat.

“I know, and I expect it to be rough. But I know you’ve been working hard, so let me help you out. Please.” He added the extra please to sweeten the deal, and it had worked. Which is how you ended up outside of his office, contemplating which spot to take when something caught your eye.

It was blue ink, the m’s and n’s nothing but little scribbles, the capitol J hanging well below the line. It was familiar, so familiar that you fumbled around in your backpack for the research book you’d been carrying around with you, the one that held mystery persons notes.

You held up the defaced text, looking between the scrawl on the page and the name written on the line. It was exact match down to the ink, and you gasped in elation.

“I found you,” you whispered, making a squeal of delight. “I actually found you, James Buchanan.” You squinted, reading the name in the slot. Your excitement died down as you tapped your finger to your lips.

The name didn’t ring any bells. You didn’t expect that you would know the mystery writer, but the fact was, you shared an advisor. You pressed your fingers to the name as if it would disappear before your eyes.

“You complicate things,” you told it, as if somehow, they could hear you, feel you. Maybe they could.

“I’m no shrink, but talking to pieces of paper is definitely on the spectrum of insanity.”

His voice couldn’t scare you, even if it was so sudden. An office door closed, and Thor looked at you in amusement. He looked better than you last remembered, considering you hadn’t seen him since he had told his father—the college professor—he was dropping out.

“What are you doing here?” you straightened up, facing him with a beaming smile. He mirrored the expression.

“Talking to dear old dad about some things,” he took a few steps way from what you presumed was his father’s office. “Checking in on Loki.”

“How is the snake these days? Haven’t heard from him since you left.”

“I suppose there really is no reason for Loki to speak to any of you anymore.” Thor side eyed you. “Not that he shouldn’t.”

Thor’s departure had been a curveball in your sitcom-esque life up until that point. He was the connective tissue in your helter-skelter friend group; smart, compassionate and charming, he’d taken all of you out of your fussy shells and made you relax in ways you didn’t even realize you needed to.

And then, just like that, he was written out, and in his absence the void grew and grew until you didn’t feel like friends with anyone anymore.

It hadn’t been Thor’s fault. He’d done it for himself, and you were proud of him. You just wished it didn’t make things so goddamn complicated. So different.

You couldn’t dump that on Thor. “Yeah, well, he’s probably busy freaking out over the LSAT to even remember we exist.”

“God, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” Thor laughed. “I have all these videos of him cramming and falling asleep on the dinner table. I once picked him up and put him back in bed and Hela filmed the whole thing.”

“Shut up,” you said, a maniacal grin forming on your face. “Odinson, don’t lie to me.”

He wasn’t lying. The two of you laughed loudly in the hallways as you watched Thor lift Loki like he was a little girl into his arms and proceed to walk through their house, Hela snickering behind them. You were bracing yourself against a wall trying not to howl, while Thor held no such qualms about letting his booming laughter fill the silence.

It registered somewhere between your fourth gasp for air and Thor’s winding down laughter that someone had opened a door. And then, in a low, pointed voice they said, “Hey, people are trying to study in this lounge.”

You tried to hold back your laughter, but Thor’s insistent giggling kept a smile on your face. “Sorry,” you said behind your hand. “We didn’t realize—”

The smile slipped off your face when you looked up, seeing the angry pout of the English Major Prick staring back at you. His eyes glanced between you and Thor, leaned cozily up against a wall and laughing at something private. Embarrassment coiled in your stomach.

“Didn’t realize the lounge was right there. Sorry.” You averted your eyes. Thor had stopped laughing at this point, turning to you with an expectant look. You nodded and waved goodbye, noting the look he gave the English Major Prick as he walked past him.

And then he turned his accusatory stare back to you. “Was that Thor Odinson?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought he dropped out.”

“So what if he did?”

“What’s he doing hanging around the English department?”

You crossed your arms. “His father is a professor here, smartass.”

“Oh.” All his malice seeped out as his shoulders deflated. The two of you stood awkwardly facing one another. It had been a long time since you’d bumped into him that day (twice), but you’d started to see his face everywhere. Out of the corner of your eye in the stairwell or sitting on a table in the school café you’d catch brunette hair and distant, sad eyes.

They were never that way when he looked at you. It was probably the anger.

“Read any Faulkner, lately?”

You wanted to fucking die. It was lame as hell, but he didn’t seem like he was leaving anytime soon and you just had to break this tense air.

“What?”

“Every time I see you, you’re reading Faulkner.”

He looked away for a moment and you banged your head against the wall when. You muttered stupidstupidstupid to yourself while he chuckled.

“You’re paying too much attention to me, mystery girl.”

The nickname made you perk up you head. “Mystery girl?”

It was his turn to look embarrassed. “Uh, yeah,” he stammered. “That’s what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

He seemed to realize what he’d said too late. You sucked in a breath to calm down the nerves that felt like they were frying all over your body. “You think about me, huh?” It didn’t sound cheeky like you wanted it to—it sounded almost hopeful.

“You left quite an impression on me. Literally, my shoulder is bruised.”

You hummed. “Better than what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Oh, you really don’t want to know, buddy.”

He was out of the lounge now, leaning on the door frame and fully facing you. “But I really, really do.”

You smiled down at the ground, partly because you were about call this boy a prick to his face, but also because he was smiling at you for once, and he looked rather sweet when he curled his hair behind his ears.

“English Major Prick.” His eyebrows shot into his hair and you had to put your hand over your mouth to stop laughing. “I told you you didn’t want to know.”

“No, no, it’s—” he scuffed his shoes against the ground. They were well shined oxfords with scuff marks on the very tips. “I deserve that.”

“So, we finally agree on something.”

The bashful smile he gave was infectious. “Well, I’d prefer you not refer to me as that.”

“Who says I’ll be referring to you at all?”

“Well, you do think about me.”

It shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, considering you knew he did the same. And yet your reaction was textbook flustered. “I mean—”

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“My name,” he continued. “It’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

Oh shit. Oh no. “You’re Steve’s friend?” It came out as a question because you were suddenly terrified. You had been off-handedly telling Steve about this guy for the better part of the semester and now you knew he was his best friend but you were also—no, you were not falling for this guy you barely knew.

But you did feel something in this stupid little interaction. Especially when you saw a new expression on his face—surprise.

“You know Stevie?” Stevie. Cute.

“Yeah, he’s—I, huh.” You took a minute to gather your thoughts. He was patient about it. “I modeled for him? You know, for his senior exhibition.”

Something crossed his face before he said, “Oh,” in a tone that was supposed to be surprise, but sounded like something else. “You’re the girl he’s painting.”

God, this could not be any more complicated. “Yeah, I am.”

The conversation came to a full stop, and from behind Bucky a familiar bearded face popped out, looking for him. “Hey, Barnes, don’t leave me hang—” Quentin Beck’s entire face went pale when he saw you, muttering out a “sorry,” before disappearing into the lounge.

Bucky whirled around, and you didn’t expect the wide eyes he gave you. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get Quentin to shut up?”

You snorted and he shushed you, but it was no use. The two of you broke into suspicious giggles, trying desperately to be quiet.

“It’s a long story. One you don’t have time for. Quentin will set this building on fire if you don’t pay attention to him.”

Bucky bounced his shoulders against the wall. “You’re probably right.”

You stood there dumbly for a moment, not meeting one another’s gazes until Bucky cleared his throat.

“I guess, um, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” You turned around on your heels so you wouldn’t have to see him anymore, but also to hide the stupid, childish grin you got from thinking about bumping into him again.

* * * *

You found yourself thinking about Bucky Barnes at the most inopportune, and rather inappropriate times.

You were never going to make a move on him; he was smart and well rounded and Steve’s best friend, three things that intimidated you into only confessing your feelings in drawn out day dreams. In your head he would always say yes, but there were many other discrepancies between your head and real life.

For example, in your head your essay was a masterpiece, but on paper you weren’t so sure.

A strange assembly of people sat around your table to read your magnum opus: Nat, Bruce, Wanda, MJ and Pete all flipped through the copies of your first fifteen pages, highlighting and scratching in notes. You had decided to stay with them and answer any initial questions, but it got very quiet very quickly as they became absorbed with your writing.

To keep from bursting with anxiety, you’d let your mind drift, thinking of the earlier days when this might have been a dinner party, or maybe even one of Tony’s house parties. And then you remembered that Steve had been to those too, but on the peripheral of everyone else. And if Bucky was his best friend, he must have been on the fringe as well. What it would have been like if you’d known him then…

Their insistent chittering interrupted your daydream, so you engaged them by saying “Something you want to share with the class? Peter, MJ?”

Peter shrank back at your raised eyebrows while MJ’s bored look persisted. “I was just telling him that I think your topic has been done before.”

You instantly remembered why the younger girl intimidated you so much. MJ seemed to read your face, because she continued: “I like your take on it though. You break it down in new ways, but you don’t dumb it down for your readers.”

“Okay, okay,” you repeated. There was nothing you could do with praise except keep your paper the way it was, but that wouldn’t help you write the remaining pages. “Everyone else? Thoughts?”

Nat kept scribbling down something in the margins while she spoke, never looking at you. “Your argument is well thought out, and your choice of movies reflects it really well.” She added one last embellishment before smiling up at you; small and genuine, but gone in a flash. “I might even add in one more film if you can.”

You breathed out to keep your elation under control. Had you seriously pulled this off? And so far away from the deadline? “You think so? Like the theory doesn’t feel like an afterthought?”

“Not at all. It feels like you’ve developed it pretty well. It’s solid.” Bruce complimented. His smile was warm and there was a twinkle in his eyes when he slid your paper back to you. “It’s a pretty good paper.”

The elation disappeared, replaced with a cold rush of fear. “Is that all? It’s just good?”

Your panic must have been alarming, because everyone tripped over themselves to console you.

“I like the part where you call the films low-key racist.”

“Thanks, MJ.”

“Yeah, you picked some good movies. You should use Jurassic Park.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a monster movie,” Peter explained this like you were stupid, and hadn’t just write fifteen pages on the ethics of monster movies.

“It doesn’t, it’s not—”

“It doesn’t work. No one wanted to fuck the T-Rex, Peter.”

“Can we focus on my theory and NOT on fucking T-Rex’s?”

Wanda came to your rescue. “Y/N, the theory is sound. It’s a well-constructed paper, with very minor issues—”

You wanted to tear out your hair. “What issues? You guys haven’t said anything!”

“Hey, hey,” Bruce came out of his seat and walked around you, placing his hands on your shoulders. Your short breaths became a sigh as you let him soothingly rub out the tension. You hadn’t been this close to Bruce in a long time, not since you two broke up sophomore year. But he could still read your anxiety like a book.

“Calm down. We know this paper is important to you.”

“I won’t graduate without it.”

“But you did a great job.” The occupants of the room smiled at you, and they felt honest. “You picked us to read it because we wouldn’t lie to you, right?”

You nodded. Bruce really did know you well.

“This is a great paper. Your teacher will love it.”

Bruce had never lied to you, but it didn’t mean he was infallible.

Kyle had a strange look on his face while he read your paper. A couple of times you’d broken away from your daydreams (usually about Bucky—you really did think about him in your worst times) and caught him whispering questions to himself or underlining furiously. You caught words being written in bold red ink and your heart dropped out of your stomach.

“Y/N this is,” he started, but was unable to finish. “It’s rough.”

“It’s my second draft, Kyle.”

“I know,” he was trying to use a calmer voice, but he was strained. “But it’s very early, and if you go back and fix some things, I think it’ll make more sense.”

“It doesn’t even make sense?!”

“Hey.” His tone was firm against your hysterical whine. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

His hands were laced across his desk as he looked to you pointedly. Your words died in your throat. There wasn’t anything you could tell him, there was no reason your draft was shitty. It was all you, all in your head, everywhere except on the page where it needed to be.

When you didn’t answer Kyle sighed. “You know you’re one of my favorite students, right?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does matter.” He was offended, you could hear it. Offended, concerned, and angry.

“You’ve never gotten higher than an A- on your papers. Not in my class. But you’re extremely smart and I know you can read my comments, so I’m just wondering why you think it’s okay to waste my time—and your hard work—not changing your essays when I tell you to.”

You felt like a scolded child. Tears pricked in your eyes, but you held it together. Just not enough to speak.

“Everything is here, but it feels like you’re holding back. Like you can’t see the bigger picture, and that’s not like you. So, I’m asking you, right now, why you’re afraid to put everything in this essay.”

“I—” your voice was thick with emotion. He knew you were on the brink of collapsing, and he sat back, defeated.

“This paper isn’t the same as all the others. You can’t get an A- and go. As you go farther in academia things change, and you have to step it up. You’re a senior, Y/N.”

“What if I don’t want to be?”

You weren’t sure how that thought slipped out of your mouth, but Kyle sat up when it registered to him what you’d said.

“That’s just how it is. Are you…are you scared of that?”

Your heart rattled in your chest. The obviousness of his accusation hit you like a freight train, and Kyle could tell he was right.

“Y/N,” he started, but you stood abruptly, snatching the paper off his desk. “Y/N, wait.”

“I’m sorry, professor, Kyle, I just—” you left it at that before bolting, shooting down the stairs and storming out of the building. The tears came dripping down your face and you crumpled, breathing heavily like you’d never had air before.

It was utterly humiliating. Passerbys would look at you and remark in hushed tones, avoiding you like the plague. You wanted to scream about how normal this breakdown was, but it didn’t feel normal.

He’d seen through you like glass and shattered you twice as easily. Everything was raining down too fast, and there was no way to stop it.

You were shaking so hard that when a hand came to rest on your shoulder you hardly felt it. “Whoa, Y/N?” came Peter’s warm, boyish voice. “Hey, hey what happened?”

He slid next you, curling his arm around your back and forcing you to lean on him. You did so with very little protest. His heart beat was steady as he coddled you, and through bleary eyes you could see Ned Leeds squatting to look you in the eye.

“Hey, do you want to talk about it?” His voice was so soft, like he was talking to a baby. The thought made you laugh.

“I’ll be fine in a minute. I’ll just, bounce back up and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Y/N.”

“Yes, I do Peter,” you sighed, feeling another round of tears prick at your red rubbed eyes. “I have to, or else everything will come fucking crashing down—”

“Hasn’t it already?”

The statement pierced through your sobs like an arrow and you glared at Peter. Even through watery eyes you managed to take him aback.

“I’m not going to sit here and have you fucking patronize me, Parker!”

“Fine then, let’s go somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

Peter didn’t exactly smile, but his mischievous look was enough to ground you. “Somewhere the entire campus can’t see you have a breakdown.”

* * * *

Now that winter was approaching, the sunsets crept up earlier and earlier until by 7 pm the sun was already set, and twilight brought out the first twinkle of stars. Peter led the way up the scaffolding stairs to the sloped roof of the creative sciences building, despite having the afterhours key.

“I wanted the nostalgia of sneaking up here,” he told you, tossing his backpack over the highest point of the building and hauling himself up. The two of you helped Ned and the walked over to the best vantage point on the entire campus.

This far from the city, and with the lights out in most of the buildings you could see the stars wink into existence. It felt like lifetimes had past since you were last up here—it was Thor and Valkyrie who’d imparted this knowledge on you and you’d kept it confined within your friend group ever since.

The three of you laid down, backpacks under your heads like pillows. The only sounds were of the wind in your ears or the cars down below. You breathed deep to clear your lungs, and you hiccupped out your last sob.

“My professor says I’m afraid of change.”

There was a shift on either side of you as Peter and Ned simultaneously sat up and stared.

“He said that?” Ned asked incredulously. “Like, to your face?”

“No; he kind of asked me, I guess? I don’t know. He fucking read me.”

“Are you scared?”

Peter’s voice was as uncertain as you felt. No, that was a lie—you’d know this for quite some time now. You closed your eyes, letting it all wash over you.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“You mean crying over a paper that’s worth all of your grade and contemplating jumping off a roof?”

You laughed outwardly and loudly at Ned’s response. “No. Well, Maybe.”

“Elaborate.”

“I want to always be in college. It’s been the most stressful, chaotic, stupid crazy time of my life and I just,” you opened your eyes to face the truth. “I don’t want to give it up. I don’t want to leave all of you, some of us scattered in the wind, the rest of you left behind. I want us to stay like this forever: sitting on the roof and counting the stars and pointing out constellations we don’t even know the name of. Laughing in the diner until midnight and screaming on the streets every time we jaywalk. Drunken house parties, movie marathons. This era, forever.”

There was a moment of silence after your confession, and you dragged your hand down your face. “Sorry, that was—”

“That was sooo poetic,” Ned told you, reveling in your embarrassment. “How long have you been holding that in?”

“Y/N,” Peter said seriously. “You can’t just fail your classes and bomb your senior thesis and stay in college forever.”

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“You sure? Because it’s all going according to plan.”

“Peter, what if I’m not ready to leave?” You sat up to face him. “I’ve been going to school my entire life, and now I’m just supposed to walk out and be an adult? I never thought I’d even make it past the age of sixteen, let alone do all this! What if I can’t do it?”

“You think any of your friends are ready? You think Bruce, or Wanda or Steve are just, full fledged adults, ready to take on the world?”

They hadn’t even occurred to you. The mention of them felt like a slap in the face.

“God, for someone so smart, you’re really stupid. None of us are ready for whatever the hell is out there. We never were!” His voice had that pain in it, the one that shouldn’t belong to someone so young. “We all wish it could be crazy fun teen shit all the time, but we have to move forward. And we have to do it together, so we don’t leave each other behind. That means you have to move on.”

“Damn,” you let his words sink in. “When did you get so wise?”

“Sophomore year,” he said precisely. “When I had a mental breakdown over chem class and you told me the exact same thing.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You told me that the crying and the failing happened to everyone, but that I couldn’t dwell on it and stay stagnant. I had to be the best version of my myself, and that included moving forward from my mistakes.”

You remembered that moment. Peter had been curled up against the wall of his tiny, dirty dorm room and you, Bruce and Tony had coaxed him out with the promise of ice cream and you knew for the first time in your life that you always wanted those boys in your life. You smiled at Peter.

“Sneaky trick, Parker.”

“I learned from the best.”

Your phone buzzed against the roof and you picked it up before it rattled off the edge. Wanda had called three times, and she was calling again.

“Hello?”

“Where are you? Peter said you were crying?”

You shot a look over at the brunette and he played dumb. “Yeah, I was.”

“Well I was worried about you! You usually come home and change by now, or at least tell me you’ll be late but…” her voice morphed into concern. “What happened?”

You didn’t want to be at home right now. In fact, you didn’t want this night to be like all the others—with you laying in bed until your mind finally shut down. You turned to Peter and Ned and mouthed a question, to which they nodded vigorously.

“Hey Wanda, I was thinking we could get some food and catch up. Say, 11th Street Diner?”

She grappled for words before giving a snort of disbelief. “You’re a heart attack, you know that?”

“Meet me at 8.”

* * * *

Wanda had brought everyone—and by everyone you meant her usual motley crew of Clint Barton, Nat, her boyfriend and her brother. They were all wreaking havoc in different sections of the diner: Pietro, Peter and Ned were outside filming skateboarding tricks while Vision was taking his sweet time picking something at the jukebox. Nat and Clint had taken seats at the bar to get their food faster, leaving you and Wanda sipping your shared milkshake. Strawberry, like you both liked.

“Wanna hear a secret?��

“Tell me.”

You two used to do this when you realized you hadn’t talked in a while. You’d tell her something no one else knew, because she was both your roommate and the best at keeping secrets. So, you leaned over and whispered into her ear about the time you gave Quentin Beck a hand job in the corner booth of this very diner, and she sucked down her drink to keep from screaming with laughter. Or possibly disgust.

“How long have you been keeping that in?” Pink liquid still escaped her mouth and you handed her a napkin.

“Since we dated.”

“Do you regret it?”

“While I never want to do it again, no, I don’t.”

“It’s breaking the rules, but can I ask for another secret?”

You tilted your head. “‘Fraid I’m all out.”

“Not quite,” she said coyly. “What happened, when Peter said you were crying?”

You watched the ice in your drink while you swirled your straw and monotonously recounted the events of your disastrous advising meeting and the roof with Peter and Ned. Wanda’s face fell into its usual pensiveness.

“Is he right?” The question was leading, but you fell for it regardless.

“Yup. Peter and I have established that my subconscious is sabotaging my paper.”

“I always knew you’d be your own worst enemy.” She wasn’t not smug when she said it, but the sip of her milkshake is. You snatched the glass yourself and she pouted.

“You’re right, I just hate hearing people say it.”

“Well, it’s because you’re always in that big brain of yours.” She prodded her finger on your forehead, like fuckin E.T. “And your overly romantic heart.”

“God, you’re like the fourth person whose told me that.” You counted them on your fingers. “You, Bruce, Q, and Steve. That’s entirely too many.”

“Five,” Nat interrupted, walking up to your table with Clint in tow. “I’m saying it now. Also, Bucky Barnes has been staring at you for ten minutes.”

A shot of adrenaline went through your heart. “Bucky Barnes? Where?”

“He’s at the bar, alone, so I suggest you do something about it.”

Wanda looked at you expectantly, then leaned out of the booth to get a look at him. You hissed at her to stop, but her mouth curved into a satisfied grin.

“Well, he sure is handsome. I wouldn’t mind if you ditched us for him, but you’ll have to tell me the details of this later. After you properly explain the Quentin hand job thing.”

“The what now?” Nat’s stoic face broke into one of pure shock, so you found it a good a time as any to escape the tension and enter…new tension.

Bucky turned his head to act like he wasn’t overtly staring at you, but you’d caught the sight of his eyes going wide. You sat on the stool next to him and waved off the server before leaning over the counter.

“You know I can see you even though you aren’t looking at me, right?”

He seemed to be ready for the confrontation now, because when he swiveled around there was confidence painted on his face. He opened his mouth but you stopped him in his tracks.

“Actually, before you say anything, do you want to get out of here? We have an audience.”

He looked behind you to see three sets of eyes peering over the booth you’d just left. He huffed before placing exact change next to his plate and standing up. You followed suit, snatching a few fries off his plate and flipping off your friends.

When you two stood on the curb of the diner, he confessed, “I walked here, so, there’s really nowhere for us to go.”

“Oh.” You realized it was the same for you, but you tried to hide your disappointment with a smile. “That’s okay. We can walk.”

So, you did. When you told him you’d go anywhere but the library, he seemed surprised. “You like, live there.”

“So it would seem. I’m just not really in the mood to do any work tonight.”

“Oh, so it’s one of those days.” He said it so knowingly, and you realize that he is also an English major, and a senior.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on my senior thesis.”

“No shit,” he said, but without the condescension. In fact, he’d been perfectly civil. “Same here.”

He talked about how he was taking Southern Literature because it was dark and surprising. His paper was on the Southern Gothic, and how that idea had moved on to other aspects of modern American ideology. Bucky moved his hands when he talked, his broad shoulders going up and down. He was wearing a blue bomber jacket that you liked because it caught the light from the street lamps nicely.

“What’s yours on?”

“Oh,” you came out of your thoughts abruptly, unsure of what he’d said. “Well, I specifically study film—”

“That makes sense.” He blurted out, and you creased your brows.

“What do you mean?”

He hissed out something to himself. “Nothing, it’s just when you’re on third floor sometimes I see you watching the weirdest shit and I wonder ‘why is she doing that in the library?’”

It took a minute for you to fully understand the implication. “You’ve seen me around?”

He rolls his head with a laugh. “You’re hard to miss.”

This was news to you. You’d flown under the radar for quite some time, never having joined any clubs or sports people could recognize you from. You’d gotten a few compliments on your outfits in the past four years, but nothing you thought could make you known.

He was very good at making your stomach turn into a mosh pit of butterflies. You felt not exactly vulnerable, but strangely delicate around him. Like you were floating on air.

So, to quell that feeling, you replied. “I’d beg to differ.”

“I’ve seen you around the library since, what, sophomore year? You’re always on third floor, you walk in like you own the goddamn place.” He smiled down at the ground when he talks about you. It was the cutest thing in the world to watch him curl his hair behind his ear and smile at you sideways.

“You never noticed me.”

It was true, you hadn’t. “I try to pick through my memories and find you. I feel like I’m retroactively learning about you.”

“Thinking hard?” It’s an accusation you’re okay with, because he was bashful, not arrogant when he said it.

“Maybe.”

You swayed when you walked beside him, thinking you could listen to his stories for hours. At times you felt like you were boring him, because the stories of Austria and internships were large compared to your freshman dorm party memories, but he laughed like he’s never been more entertained in his life.

“I wish I’d talked to you earlier. Gotten your name from your lips before anyone else had said it to me.”

Your eyes widened. “I never told you my name?”

He shook his head, and the hair came out from behind his ears. “No. that day I told you mine, was it the first time you’d heard it?”

“Maybe. I think Steve just calls you ‘Buck’.”

“Steve talked about you first. And then when I became friends with all his adjacent buddies, they talked about you too. And then, of course, when I went back to Quentin that day, he told me.”

“God,” you groaned. “What did he say about me?”

“That you’re smart and crazy and kind. He would say your name like it was cursed and enchanted all at once.”

“And my friends call me romantic,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve been branded that too. But I don’t mind it so much. There’s worse things to be.”

“Like what?”

“Like an English Major Prick.” He emphasized that last consonant and you hid you face in your hands.

“You won’t let me live that one down, huh?”

“Maybe. If I like the way you say my name, I might consider it.”

There was a split second where you realized how fragile the moment was; one wrong step and it was broken on the floor like humpty dumpty. You thought of your professor pegging your fear of change. Peter’s words echoed in your brain and you felt like you were jumping off the roof when you said:

“Bucky Barnes, you smooth son of a bitch.”

He smiled, brighter than the moon. All at once, everything that was ever certain was shattered, but you leaped over it and left it behind.

* * * *

Steve called you in one last time about two weeks before the showcase. You were scribbling over the words written by the mystery writer (James, you affectionately called him) while Steve wiped sweat from his brow. And incidentally, paint in his hair.

Tapping your leg to the beat of whatever pretentious song, you were too engrossed in your ‘work’ to hear Steve say “You look happy.”

“What?” you screamed over the music.

He turned it off and sat next to you with a smug look you disliked. You pushed his face away and he only laughed, that big almost fake sound you knew was real.

“Seriously, you’re so empathic that whatever your feel, I feel. And today’s goin’ great.” He gestured to the painting that was supposed to be you, but all you saw were swirls of paint. You took this to mean things were going well.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I had a rough week last week, but things are getting better.”

“Did you talk to your advisor again?”

“Yeah.” Kyle had spent the better part of an hour picking apart your thesis in ways you couldn’t have even imagined. By the end of it you’d had at least three pages worth of new material, but still a hell of a way to go. “Kyle and I worked it out.”

“That’s good. You know my advisor’s freaking out about my work? He thinks it’s too complex.”

“It’s just faces.” It sounded dumb to say, but that was the way you saw it.

Steve picked up your chin. His fingers were wet and cold with paint. “You’re not just a face, Y/N.”

“Ah!” you screamed as lilac rubs off on you. “Let me go, paint monster!”

You dropped your book into his lap as you ran around looking for the sink. Steve’s laughter subsided as he looked down, puzzled at the writing that swirled around the pages of the library book.

“Hey, Y/N?” he called out, but you’re preoccupied with wiping paint off your neck. “Y/N?”

“What?”

“Where’d you get this?”

“The library, doesn’t it say that on the spine?”

“But this hand writing,” His voice tapered off.

You exchanged the book for the rag and assessed James’ words. “I’ve been curious about it too. It was in like, all the books I checked out, isn’t that wild? And—get this—it belongs to some guy named James Buchanan, and we have the same advisor. Isn’t that crazy?”

Steve looked like he was trying to say something, but he eyes turned towards the door as someone knocked twice.

“Yo, punk? You in here?” Bucky’s voice carried into the room. When he walked in, he immediately paused, taking stock of the two of you staring at him.

“Oh,” his voice wavered and a nervous smile appeared. “Hey.”

Steve’s eyes cut to yours, and you feel immense pressure. “Hi, Bucky.”

“Hey, Buck.” Steve’s voice is a bullet, and Bucky turned to him, automatically annoyed. “Y/N has this book I think you’ve read.”

“Oh, which one?” He crossed the room in easy strides, and you were helpless in the situation you thought Steve was orchestrating. When you handed it to him his eyes lit up in recognition as he flipped through it.

“Holy shit, I really wrecked this one, huh? Good thing the university really doesn’t give a shit.”

You were having trouble processing what he’s said. Steve had gotten up wordlessly, but there was a particularly blank look on his face as he avoided your eyes. You turned back to Bucky, who was fondly reading over James’ words.

“Though Scott himself does not adhere to Weaver’s interpretation, the fact still remains that the tension between the Alien and Ripley,” he trailed off with a stunned look. “I was a regular old critic, huh?”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull. “You wrote that?”

He was startled at the way you raised your voice, and answered cautiously. “Yeah, like, years ago. For a film class I took.”

You reeled back at the information. You fought the urge to open your backpack and ask him if he’d written in all the other books, but that couldn’t—how could he be—

“I checked out, like, seven books from the library this semester and they all have the same handwriting in them. And then, I found out that it matched to a guy named James Buchanan—”

“Barnes,” He finished.

“What? No. That’s not what I saw.”

“That’s my name. James Buchanan Barnes.”

You sat there dumbly, your eyes narrowed in thought. There was no fucking way that he’d written in all these film books. In every single one you’d painstakingly read with romantic ideals and dreaming of who it’d belong to and how you’d meet. The fantasies were crumbling around you, leaving you in the dust.

Bucky’s face was earnest though. Steve was silent behind both of you, painting away like your worlds weren’t colliding.

“You. Okay,” you restarted. “If your name is Bucky,”

“Doll, it’s a nickname—”

“Let me finish.” You ignored the ‘doll’ part and tried to Sherlock your way through this. “If everyone you know calls you Bucky Barnes, why did you write ‘James Buchanan” on Kyle’s sign-up sheet?”

Bucky settled into the stool Steve had been sitting on. “It’s a joke between the two of us. He thinks it’s funny, so I humor him when I can.”

“Okay but, the books are companion pieces for films, I thought you were an English lit major?”

“I am, but I took Intro Film sophomore year.”

“What? With who.”

“Kyle.”

You thought back to two years ago, when you’d been new to the world of film, and you’d met Kyle for the first time. You’d aced that class with flying colors, quickly becoming one of his star students. Coincidentally, so was Quentin Beck, a cock sure boy who got into arguments over any little thing with you. The two of you were the most outspoken in the class, and you never paid much mind to anyone that wasn’t him. But there had been other people that would wait after class for a moment with the professor, and it was in those memories that you recalled him.

Brunette hair, but far shorter. Crystal blue eyes and impeccable clothes. Bucky.

“That…you were in that class? But I never—”

“You never noticed me.” His voice was resigned and so was his smile. He’d told you this before, that he’d seen you around before, but you never imagined he’d known you since sophomore year. “I remembered you from all the way back then: you had long, shiny, impeccable hair and this glint in your eye whenever you talked. Which was a lot. You could dazzle the class just by breathing. And I sat rows and rows behind you, and never spoke. There was no reason you would have ever seen me.”

There was a wavering sadness in his voice, and for a moment, Bucky looked exactly as he did in Steve’s portrait: haunted by the past, unable to fix it.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why am I just now figuring out that you’re the boy of my dreams?”

There was music playing in the background that hadn’t been there before; a cozy, soft melody by one of Steve’s favorite artists. It matched Bucky’s breathlessness as he gazed at you with a tilted head and eyes full of hope. A far cry from just seconds before.

“What did you say?”

“I’ve been thinking about this mysterious ‘James Buchanan’ who’s written exactly what I think, and has seen all the same movies as me. And I’ve been wondering what he’s like, or if he’s nice, of if he’d ever even like me if I met him.”

A coy smile stretched across his face. “Well, what is he like?”

“He’s,” you blanked for a moment, trying to tone down all the wildly romantic thoughts you’ve been having ever since you’d met Bucky Barnes. You decided to risk it all and tell him the truth.

“He’s very smart; he reads Faulkner but think Hurston has more heart. He dresses like he already has his PhD but it looks good on him. He’s sweet but extremely romantic, which is okay because I could listen to him talk for hours. He’s a bit of a prick, though.”

He hung his head back when he laughed at the last part, and you felt your heart swell tremendously. He wasn’t mocking you. He was agreeing with you. You knew this to be true.

“Well, do you think he does like you?” Bucky suddenly became serious. He was nervous.

“I don’t know, does he?”

“Can you two just fucking kiss already?”

Bucky threw something at Steve, but you couldn’t tell what. In the moment he threw it you were laughing, but once it’s over his hand slid onto your face and pulled you into a kiss. Your eyes closed when you felt it, and he tilted his head to keep you occupied. Otherwise you would have heard Steve triumphantly yell “yes!” behind you two.

Bucky rested his forehead against yours. His blue, blue eyes were so much lovelier this close. He whispered, “I think he does.”

You kissed him quick, once, then twice, then sighed contentedly. “Good. I like him too.”

“Well I for one am happy for them.”

This time you see a wet paintbrush beam for Steve’s eye. “Less talking, more painting, punk!”

* * * *

Bucky is lost in thought when the door to Kyle’s office opened. There was a low chatter between two people and he looked up to see Kyle propped up in the door was as you spoke to him. You were dressed up nicely in a tweed coat that matched his own.

Kyle’s eyes rested on the chair Bucky sat in and he perked up in recognition. “Oh, James,” he said, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, were you waiting for me?”

“No, not you.” He stood up and brushed out the wrinkles in his shirt before coming to your side. You gave him a quick smile before turning back to your professor, whose face was openly shocked.

“Oh,” he said in a dubious, but delighted voice. “So, this is happening.”

“We’re going to the senior art exhibition to see our friend’s graduation project,” you explained, looking rather annoyed at the two men. “We’re both in one of his paintings.”

“Together?” he asked, a bit of scandal in his voice.

“No,” you droned, shutting it down. “Mind your business.”

“You’re both my advisees, this is my business.”

“Good night, Kyle,” you said pointedly, turning around and marching down the hall. Kyle sent a congratulatory wink at Bucky, who acknowledged it with a salute.

As he caught up with you, he handed back a thick essay, riddled with blue ink and yellow highlighter. You added it to another similar essay, one with exclamation points and significantly less marks.

“How’d he like it?” Bucky made conversation as you two trekked across campus. Winter made the nighttime seem even darker, but the two of you glowed underneath the street lamps.

“He loved it. Said it was infinitely better, and then apologized for the millionth time for making me cry.”

“What did he say about the part about Ripley and the Alien?”

You shot him that crazy grin, the one that looked unbelievably beautiful as you approached the traffic lights. Your face was highlighted in red and Bucky thought of the painting you two were about to witness.

“He didn’t say a thing. I should have cited you on that.”

“I’m not a published writer.”

“I know. But one day when you are, I can tell people I gave you your start.”

Bucky laughed, mostly to keep his heart from beating out of his ribcage. Crazy, crazy girl.

You two entered the exhibition hall and traded your backpacks for flutes of fake champagne. The room was lighted lowly, the works of art brandished with bright lights to show off their artistry. You two walked through still life paintings and abstract canvases, marveling some he understood and other’s that made him think.

“Art’s not my forte,” he confided. You hummed, taking a lofty sip.

“Mine either. But they’re gorgeous.”

You floated down the hall as if pulled by a string, and Bucky noticed what you were hung up on.

Steve’s paintings were hanging in a trapezoid shape, and when you walked closer, they seemed to engulf you in color. To your left was Sam and to your right was Bucky, but you stared dead ahead at yourself.

Bucky had seen the painting early, per Steve’s request. He’d helped him move them from his apartment, and had seen the three of you looking very somber and one another.

You were silent as you examined the pieces, and Bucky strode right up to your side.

“So, what do you think?” you started. “I know art isn’t your forte.”

“She’s gorgeous.”

You hummed, pointing to your right. “I like this one better.”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you like about it?”

“His eyes; they’re so expressive. I remember being moved when I saw the reference picture. It’s haunting, but ethereal.”

This wasn’t poking fun now, you genuinely meant it. Bucky tilted his head.

“I was thinking about the future.”

“But you’re looking back.”

“Isn’t that ironic?” There was no humor in his voice. “I was thinking about how it could be the last time I ever modeled for Stevie, done everything at his beck and call, whatever the fuck he wanted. How it was my last year to do something impressive, something memorable. How I had,” he eyes looked to yours for a flash, but you caught his meaning. “Wishes. Regrets.”

Your hand snaked up his back and rested on his shoulder. The touch burned and comforted him all at once. “Do you still have them?”

“Some of them. Not all of them.” He gave you a smile and a quick kiss. Not you.

“Good. That’d be a shame. These three deserve to be happy.”

“They look so beautiful when they’re upset, though.”

“Don’t they?” you sighed and laid your head on his shoulder. “They should hang them in The Louvre.”

“They’d shove me in the back.”

Steve’s voice echoed from your left, and Sam strolled up with him. He stared at his own giant face, all mellowed out with blues and pinks.

“This face deserves to be in every museum. Front and center.”

“God, I did not miss the sound of your voice,” Bucky groaned.

“And I didn’t miss your sour attitude Barnes, and yet here we are. Y/N, remind me again why you’re with this loser?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. He’s had a crush on me for a looong time,” you drawled, lacing your hands together when Bucky rolled his eyes. “Decided to give him a shot.”

“I’m glad you did. Now he can finally stop talking about you with that look one his face.”

“What look? You mean that one?” Sam pointed to the portrait.

“That same exact one.”

“I’m leaving.” Bucky marched back the way he came, with you, Sam and Steve laughing at his heels. He tried to turn away and hide his smile, but everything was falling into place very nicely. All those wishes and regrets withered when he walked back to the entrance and found all their friends gathered loosely on the street.

Bucky had never been part of a friend group so large, but they cheered at his arrival. You greeted everyone in different ways; shoving Peter light heartedly, hugging Bruce and telling Tony to fuck off. They walked as a pack down the street to the 11th street diner, stupid, young and infallible as they all jaywalked, hollering like they were committing murder and not a minor traffic offence. In the hilarious chaos your hand found Bucky’s and you ran like hell, racing Pietro though you two knew you would lose. He kissed the back of your hand. Tony gagged.

He wished they could always be like this.

104 notes · View notes

imaginetonyandbucky · 5 years

Text

Tony Stark’s Guide to Being a Functional Adult

Step 5: Get Married (??) (AO3)

A few weeks later, Tony was sitting at the table working on his computer while Bucky read a book on the couch, low music playing on the radio. Then Bucky heard a sharp inhale. “Oh shit,” Tony blurted with a strangled sound. Bucky’s eyes flew up and Tony looked at him nervously. “I got an email from the school.”

“Okay,” Bucky said slowly, and when Tony just stared at him, he laughed in disbelief. “What, are you afraid you didn’t get in?”

“It’s a competitive school,” Tony said defensively, hunching his shoulders.

Bucky put his book down to throw a pillow at him. “Just open it, you nutcase, you know you got in.”

Tony clicked the button on his touchpad like it was pulling the trigger in Russian roulette. Bucky watched his eyes move over the screen, and then the fear turned into confusion. “What is it?” Bucky asked. “You’re making a funny face.”

“I’m not sure I understand. Listen to this: ‘This isn’t a proposal, this is a finished thesis,’” Tony read aloud. “’The idea of a proposal is that you aren’t sure if it’s going to work or not. This is a fully completed schematic. I would suggest submitting it to the patent office pronto and think of something else to study.’ That’s from the dean of the engineering school I applied to.” He lowered the lid of his laptop and met Bucky’s disbelieving gaze. “Whoops. Now what do I do?”

Bucky bookmarked his page and sat up. “Well, what were you going to use it for?”

“I don’t know. Anything that needs energy, really. I mean, it will be about the size of a coaster but thicker, so not like a cell phone but a car, or a house, something like that.” Tony scratched his chin. “I guess it could be fun to design a car around the arc reactor.” His eyes got wide as another thought occurred to him. “I bet I could make it fly,” he whispered to himself with awe.

“There you go,” Bucky said, smothering a laugh. “Just try not to design the whole thing until after you start. You know, to make it look like you actually need this school,” he added, voice so heavy with irony it probably made the air magnetic.

(More after the break!)

Tony stuck his tongue out and went back to the email. “Do you know what FAFSA is?”

“Yeah, it’s the application for financial aid. I think the website is like fafsa.org or fafsa.gov or something like that, it’s pretty easy to do.”

“Did you have to do this? When you went to college?”

“No, the military paid my way, one of the perks.” When Tony just nodded distractedly, Bucky went back to his book. There were long minutes of Tony typing and muttering to himself, frowning at his computer, then Tony made a sound of frustration.

“Goddammit,” Tony cursed and stood to pace around the kitchen. “That just fucking figures.” When Bucky looked up at him curiously Tony said, “I can’t get financial aid because of my father. He makes too much money.” Tony jerked open the refrigerator and stared moodily into the contents, then slammed the door closed and started pacing again.

“I’m sorry, Tony, that’s one of the big drawbacks to the system,” Bucky said sympathetically. “Unfortunately there are only a few ways to get around that. You can go through a long legal process to emancipate yourself, which would be kind of weird because you’re over 18. Or you can join the military – not the best idea, but they would eventually pay for you to go to school, no loans required – or you get married. They don’t ask for your parent’s income if you’re married.”

“Great.” Tony sat back down at the table and rubbed his eyes. “So I’m screwed.”

“You might be able to get a personal loan from the bank,” Bucky suggested. “I don’t know how much they would give you, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

“Sure,” Tony said, blowing out a breath. Maybe the Stark name would be enough collateral for a bank loan, then it would actually be good for something.

It wasn’t.

“Thank you for your time,” Tony said with as much of a smile as he could manage when he was screaming internally out of frustration. He stood and shook hands with the apologetic banker and left the bank, seething.

No luck, he texted Bucky as he walked back to his car.

Oh no that fucking sucks I’m sorry. Y?

No credit history, not enough income, wanted my dad to cosign. Then Tony put a series of angry emoticons and got back in his car. He rested his head on the steering wheel for a long time, pressing his palms to his eyes and concentrating on breathing. As he’d figured, the banker had looked puzzled at the very idea of Tony Stark asking for a personal loan, and Tony’d had to grit his teeth and swallow his pride when reporting his income and assets. All for nothing, in the end. He knew there were others that he could ask for help – Aunt Peggy would be more than happy to cosign for him, if only to piss off Howard – but he could just imagine Howard’s reaction to that. It didn’t count as making it on his own if he just went begging to someone else for the money.

“Scholarships,” Tony said to himself as he turned the engine on. Maybe it’s not too late to apply for scholarships.

When he got home, Bucky already had a beer opened for him and a pot of spaghetti on the stove. Tony smiled tiredly but gratefully and let Bucky pull him into a hug and then gently push him into a seat at the table. Tony didn’t try to make conversation while Bucky puttered around in the kitchen, he just sat in a companionable silence and sipped at the cheap beer as Bucky put their plates on the table.

He had barely picked up his fork when Bucky took a deep breath and said, “Look, I know you are really disappointed about today, so maybe this isn’t the best time to bring this up again, but...” Tony cocked his head in confusion while Bucky fiddled with his fork. “Remember what I said about the FAFSA, and ways to get around that income thing? This might sound crazy, but what if…we got married?”

“Got married?” Tony echoed, staring at him blankly.

Bucky shrugged with unconvincing casualness. “Yeah. I mean, it occurred to me today that I would actually get more money from the VA if I were married because they would consider you a dependent, so…Win-win, right?”

He stared at Bucky and thought about the fact that if he would just go and apologize to his dad, agree to work at SI and forget about this degree, he could pay off Bucky’s entire mortgage and make sure that Bucky never needed to worry about money again, wouldn’t have to work again. Instead, Bucky was sitting here suggesting more ways that he could help Tony and making it sound like Tony would be doing him a favor. Tony buried his head in his hands, fisting his fingers in his hair. “Bucky, that’s…” Insane. Way too much. “It just seems like a – a big step.”

“But it’s not, really,” Bucky said earnestly. “We just sign the paperwork, you can fill out your financial aid application, and in like a year or so we file for a no-fault divorce.”

Sure, he made it sound so easy, but that’s just because he didn’t know the truth. Shit, Tony thought, tugging on his hair until his scalp stung, and cleared his throat. “Look, Bucky, um…I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“Okay?”

“My name isn’t Tony Edwards. My real last name is Stark. Tony Edward, um, Stark.” There was a long silence and when Tony looked up he saw a look of polite confusion on Bucky’s face. “Stark as in Stark Industries,” he explained, and then he saw a cascading series of realizations move across Bucky’s expressive face.

“Oh,” he said as he put two and two together and got a net worth of billions of dollars. “Oh,” he said with a frown when he remembered Tony’s story about being kicked out of his home. Then there was a third and final soft “oh…” when he realized what that meant for himself.

“Yeah,” Tony said and then it was quiet for a while.

“Well,” Bucky said slowly. “I can’t say that I’m not…feeling…surprised. And…maybe, a little, uh, upset. But, given what I know about you and your, um, situation, I can understand why you would hide…that.”

“Yeah.”

“So does that mean you want, like, a prenup or something?” Bucky said after another long moment of charged silence. “Because, unless I’m missing something, it doesn’t really change your situation right now, does it? I mean, your asshole rich dad is, uh, a lot richer than expected, but…still an asshole.”

“No, I didn’t say that because I wanted a prenup,” Tony protested. “I trust you. But I, um, wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into with this whole marriage idea.”

“I get it, it just doesn’t change my mind.” When Tony didn’t say anything to that, Bucky started digging into his spaghetti. “So just think about it and let me know, ok?”

Tony blinked and stared down at his plate. He could do this, he thought. They would get married, he’d get his degree, and when he made his fortune with the arc reactor he would pay Bucky back for everything he’d done for him. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, we’ll give it a shot.”

*****

After everything, filing the paperwork was pretty anticlimactic; Tony felt like he’d had more drama getting his driver’s license. There was some signing, a stamp, and a polite “congratulations” and then they were walking out of the courthouse technically a married couple.

“So,” Tony said as they stood out on the sidewalk. Bucky kept looking at the paper in his hand as if he felt a little let down. “Pizza?”

*****

“So I guess this is technically our wedding night, huh?” Tony looked around at the half-eaten pizza and empty bottle of wine as Bucky scrolled through Netflix trying to find something to watch. “Is it everything you imagined?”

Bucky snorted a laugh. “I have two sisters, so I always figured I’d be the crazy bachelor uncle,” he said. “The one that brings the cool presents and lets everyone stay up late. You?”

“Never really thought about it," Tony said lightly, which was a lie. He'd watched Jarvis and Ana together and dream about having the same for himself one day, and then he'd have dinner with his own parents and wonder if it was really possible. "My parents didn’t really give me a good opinion of marriage, so I kinda figured it wasn’t for me.”

Bucky made a face at that. “My parents always said that a marriage is what you make of it, so just because your parents’ marriage sucked or whatever doesn’t mean that yours would be the same.”

“Clearly,” Tony said dryly, gesturing around him. “For one, I think my parents would rather die than drink wine out of plastic wine glasses.”

"They don’t know what they are missing,” Bucky said as he gathered their empty cups and dropped them into the trash. “See? Dishes are already done.”

“A man after my own heart,” Tony said with a smile as he stood to help Bucky clean. “You know, it’s kind of funny,” Tony commented as he wiped down the counters and Bucky filled up the dishwasher. “Now that I think about it, what we have is already better than my parents’ marriage, and we’re just roommates.”

Bucky’s smile at that was rueful and a little sad. He closed up the dishwasher and turned it on, then leaned against the counter. “Come here,” he said with a gesture, and then when Tony was close enough he pulled him into a hug. Tony was stiff for a second, surprised, but he hurriedly brought up his hands to return the hug before Bucky pulled back. “You deserve better than this,” Bucky said softly. “Better than a sham marriage and shitty parents and a shitty childhood – “

“It wasn’t that bad,” Tony started to protest, drawing back, but Bucky shook his head.

“Hey, you can grow up with money and privilege and have a shitty childhood, Tony. Didn’t you tell me that you got sent to boarding school when you were young, and that most of the time your parents just paid for you to stay there over the holidays instead of coming home? Would you say that your dad yelled at you more than he hugged you?” Tony’s eyes cut away from Bucky’s and he shrugged, uncomfortable with how true all of that was. “I know this has been hard for you, but really, you are doing great. One day you’ll be back on your feet without your dad’s money and you can find someone to marry that you love and then you can have a marriage you can be proud of.”

"I'm not - you know, not proud of this," Tony said, and swallowed thickly. “Everything I have is because of you,” Tony managed around the tightness in his throat, staring at Bucky's collarbone intently and trying not to cry. “You’ve helped me so much-“

“Hey now,” Bucky said, clucking his tongue and cradling Tony’s chin in his hand as the tears spilled over his cheeks. “Everything you have, you've worked hard for. and we’ve been helping each other, yeah? I teach you how to boil eggs and you fix up my car so I don't crash trying to use the windshield wipers. I know we started out as roommates but I think we make a good team.”

Tony nodded and swiped at the wetness on his cheeks, embarrassed. “Thank you,” he said. “I promise, one day I’ll pay you back for everything, I swear, I owe you so much-”

“Don’t you dare,” Bucky said. "That's not how this works."

"Right." Tony nodded again, smiling wetly. Because we're a team."

"Exactly." As Tony turned away to find a tissue for his nose, Bucky said, "But if you're really feeling like you're not pulling your weight around here, you could take my turn cleaning the bathroom."

#winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #no powers au #prompts #dracusfyre

107 notes · View notes

wickedlittlewordsmith · 4 years

Text

By the time I get around to posting this, it will already be after midnight for me, which means that it’s the start of a new year and a new decade. I originally wasn’t going to write this post. Normally I write at least one self-reflective post a year—though not necessarily on New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day as it will be—but this year I thought I’d skip it since I’ve admittedly not been in a great mental space these past six weeks or so.

Then I did something ridiculous and nerve wracking (for me, at least) and completely out of character for me simply because I knew it would be uncomfortable. I shared pictures of myself both in a giant group chat with a bunch of people I don’t really know but who seem like genuinely wonderful people. (That’s you, RQ Discord peeps. Just in case any of you are here and all that jazz.) And then I shared pictures of me from 2009 and 2019 on Twitter just because. That’s it. I simply wanted to do it for myself, to continue putting myself in positions that make me slightly uncomfortable, and to do it on my terms.

I don’t have a lot of twitter followers, so I’m not super concerned about posting pictures there. (You can take your Panopticism and shove it, Foucault. I don’t care if you’re right right now.) The few friends of mine who know and follow me on there are cool and really supportive, so I’m okay with it. And I’m okay with linking things here because, well, again, it’s under my terms.

Anyway, one of my dearest, closest friends saw the tweet and messaged me on Discord about how much happier I look now than I did back in 2009 and how my whole mood has improved. And despite compliments making me uncomfortable and struggling with another depressive cycle due to extreme anxiety, I easily and honestly agreed with them.

I am happier.

Such a simple sentence to write. Three words; that’s it. Yet it’s not something I thought I’d be able to say and mean it—genuinely mean it—if I’m being completely honest.

So I got to thinking of everything I’ve been through since 2009.

In 2009, I was 19, turning 20. I was in a relationship that I hadn’t realized was abusive and toxic at the time. I was barely making it through community college, bored and restless because I didn’t feel like I was being mentally challenged by the classes I took. I had an extremely teen rebellion “Fuck you!” attitude, an extremely fragile sense of self, and was on the start of my first major breakdown.

The girl I was back then was so damn naïve. She had no idea what we’d go through to get to where we are today. She wouldn’t be able to wrap her mind around the fact that I’m currently single by choice and happy about it. She’d think my actually following a foolish dream of getting an MA and eventually a PhD is dumb as fuck. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what life with mental illnesses like GAD and c-PTSD would be like.

And yet here I am.

These past ten years have seen me survive a 9 year abusive relationship that started when I was 18. It’s seen me suffering an extreme mental breakdown at 23, abusing alcohol because I didn’t know that I was struggling with anxiety and PTSD related panic attacks every night like clockwork. It’s seen me lying to everyone about how I was doing, how my relationship was going, and what I had planned for my future. It’s seen me barely scrape by with a decent enough GPA to transfer to a somewhat local university and then half-ass a bachelor’s degree. It’s seen me in a year-long struggle with depression and anxiety followed by me fighting to regain a sense of self and pulling myself up and putting myself back together with mish-mashed pieces that didn’t really fit, only to break again when I finally ended the abusive relationship and had to deal with months of harassment in-person and then even longer with my ex stalking me and harassing me and my family online. In the span of a year, it’s seen me end a relationship, lose a friendship with the woman I’d considered my best friend for years, and having to put down my pup who’d honestly gotten me through so much of these hellish events.

There has been a lot of bad in my life, especially this past decade.

But you know what? It’s also brought me a lot of really great things, too.

I got into the Master’s program that I wanted. I got to work with the professors that I loved and knew would not only challenge me but also encourage me. I got to teach my first college-level English course on my own, which only reaffirmed the fact that that’s exactly what I want to do with my life. I’m currently working on finishing up my thesis and have a 3.9 something GPA because I am finally engaged and invested in what I’m learning.

I’ve also made a lot of great friends, both through the internet and in real life. Hell, despite having really bad anxiety and some really fucked up, self-deprecating thoughts and a severe case of imposter syndrome, I managed to spend almost a week up in the woods with a bunch of my friends from work, and I actually enjoyed myself. They’ve all helped me get to where I am today, and I couldn’t be more grateful for their presence in my life.

And that’s not to mention that I have three amazing nephews and a charming niece now! And sisters! Which, okay, probably sounds a little bit weird to be excited over, but when you grow up with 5 brothers in a terribly patriarchal and near misogynistic household, it’s pretty cool to realize you’re not the only female at family gatherings, minus your mom.

I’ve also finally admitted to people that I want to pursue a PhD in the U.K. and have not only told my family about it but have actively been doing the things that I need to in order to apply and hopefully enroll in. it’s nerve wracking to think I may be going to a whole new country—continent, even!—for this, but it’s exciting as fuck, too.

So overall, the last ten years have been a wild ride with lots of highs and lows (mostly lows), but I like who I’ve become. I really, truly am happy with who I am right now. I’m not perfect. I’m still a fucking walking disaster in human skin, basically, but I’m happy. And that’s a ridiculously delightful thought, even if my brain is trying to sabotage it, and I can’t help but feel proud.

I’m nervous to see what this year brings. I don’t even want to begin to think about these next ten years. But you know what? I’m still going to work on being the best version of me that I can be; I’m still going to do things that terrify me; I’m still going to continue learning and expanding my own horizons; and most importantly I’m still going to be me.

#☩│Redd Speaks #about me #abuse cw #alcohol cw #mental illness cw #Theo made me really self-reflective with their comments & now I have all the emotions.#And despite all of the cw tags on here I think this is a pretty positive post.#self reflection

3 notes · View notes

non-stop-imagines · 5 years

Text

Baby Daddy Stark (Part 1)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Black!Reader

Word Count:1405

A/N: Soooooooooo, yo gurl is an impulse writer! Nah, but I have had this idea for a couple weeks now and so here it is! It’s probably something completely different than what y’all were expecting, but hopefully its still good. I’ll just say that it won’t take Tony very long to assume fatherly duties. Anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: Gets a bit steamy, mentions of alcohol, but is just a background chapter overall.

“Travis, get your shoes on we’re leaving in 2 minutes.” You shout to your 10 year old son from your room as you secure your small hoop earring and then fluff your hair a bit in the mirror, fixing the bandana you had tied around your head. You exit your room and head to the large open living room of your three bedroom ranch style home in Upstate New York. You pass by your son who was finishing tying his shoes, tossing his loose dark brown curls. He was considerably light considering your deeper brown complexion, but his hair was just as dark as yours, and his eyes were a lighter brown, so you were able to see the color in any light. You didn’t notice your son’s gaze glued to the television until you turn to look at him while you pull on your jacket, following his line of sight, your eyes land on the image of your son’s hero, Tony Stark. You look back at your son a watch his eyes light up with admiration. You take a deep breath and fix your face, knowing that you had places to be and no time to sit and wallow in the past.

“Trav, it’s time to go. Turn the tv off and grab your bat bag.” You held the door open to the brisk fall air and watch your son trot outside to the car, then close and lock the door behind him.

Flashback (10 years ago, 2008)

You clumsily stumble into a large hotel, quickly being sucked in by the crowd and being carried away from your friends, who you were out with to celebrate graduating college. You are a bit more than slightly intoxicated, so the extravagance of whatever celebration going on was disorienting. After continuing to wander for a bit longer, you bump into someone, a man just slightly taller than you with dark hair. He turn around allowing you a glimpse of his brown eyes. His facial features looked as though they had time to mature and settle, trimmed facial hair surrounded his chin, and when he smiled at you and the sides of his eyes crinkled, indicating that he was indeed older than you by a slightly considerable amount. He put his hand out and you uncoordinatedly grasp onto it, being gently pulled into the man’s vicinity so he can speak to you.

“What’s your name?” He says in your ear then pulls back to flash you the most charming but childlike smile.

“Y-Y/N. What’s yours?” You slurred to him, trying to flash an equally as charming smile, but not knowing that it made it even more obvious your intoxication level. If you were sober, you would have notice the slight instance in which the man was confused as to why you asked his name, but nonetheless he answered.

“Tony. Tony Stark.” He chuckles when your eyes grow to the size of saucers, now realizing who you bumped into.

“Oh my god! Tony Stark! I love you! You were practically my only reference for my senior thesis. I just graduated with a bachelor's degree in Biomedical Engineering.” You drunkenly ramble, unknowingly trying to keep yourself from tipping over.

“Huh, pretty and smart? You the whole package aren’t you kid?” He laughs with an even large smile on his face. He takes a moment to study you, noting the flow of your shoulder length braids, your smile lines that are prominent by your eyes, the way your deep brown skin glowed underneath the moving lights, and your dark chocolate brown eyes twinkling with amazement from being face to face with a celebrity.

“Y-yeah, I guess.” You chuckle nervously. Your heart rate increases as Tony brings his face closer to you, getting close to your ear. You feel your face heat slightly as his shallow breaths caressed your ear.

“Let’s go somewhere where we can be alone.” He whispers in your ear, loud enough to cut through the volume of the party around you two. He backs up and put his hand out, making you impulsively grab it, and then absentmindedly follow him out of the extravagantly large ballroom the party was being held in to an elevator, putting all of your attention on him, not caring about what button he pressed.

“Where are we going?” You look up at him, melting into his touch as he lightly presses his hand on the small of your back then moving to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“My room.” He nonchalantly states, looking at you. “That okay with you?” he asks after feeling you tense up. You just look up at him and nod, giving him a still nervous grin. Eventually you made it to Tony’s penthouse suite, and you watch as he swipes the card to let you two in and turns on the light, revealing the large living room area, consisting of a couch set, coffee table, and tv, a kitchenette adjacent to the area, not even focusing on the amount of extra furniture around the room. There was a window that spanned the entire back wall behind the tv, and two doors against the wall closest next to the front door, but closer to the window, which you assume is to the bedroom and bathroom.

“Wow.” Dripped from your mouth in amazement as you continued to examine the room.

“Perks of being a billionaire, I guess.” He flashes a billion dollar smile to you making you giggle nervously. “So, listen,” his speech is slightly slurred, something you hadn’t noticed when you were down in the party. “I know I have a reputation, but I definitely wouldn’t make you do something that you don’t want to.” He stops from the abrupt connection of your lips to his neck, and the light touch of your hands as you brush off his suit jacket.

“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Stark?” You ask, letting the alcohol in your system take over, kissing his neck again, this one earning a small groan.

“You’re sure about this, Ms…” Tony pushes you away the slightest bit, looking you in the eyes.

“Just call me Y/N.” your voice dripped with lust you’ve never felt before. “And yes, I’m absolutely sure.” You begin to unbutton his shirt, then look back up at him to be met with a mischievous grin. In no time at all, Tony crashes his lips into yours, feeling you all over, reaching for the zipper on your back while swiftly leading you to the bedroom. No more words were exchanged outside of that bedroom for the rest of the night.

(The next morning)

You reach next to you and grab a handful of comforter where you expected Tony to be. After feeling the area and trying to listen for any movement in the hotel room, you open your eyes, temporarily blinded by the sunlight pouring through the blinds. You look around the room and see your clothes in a pile in front of the bed, and next to you a note and about ten $20 bills. You open the piece of paper:

Sorry had to go. Here’s some money for breakfast and a cab. Had fun last night ;-)

You crumble the paper up and chuck it at the trash can in the corner of the room, then furiously climb out of bed and put you clothes on, and from that moment you vowed to always have a burning hatred for Tony Stark.

(Out of Flashback)

“Alright Travis, I’ll be out there in a minute. Go to your teammates, okay baby?” You stopped at the entrance of the baseball complex and looked back at your son.

“Alright, mama.” He beams and quickly climbs out the SUV.

You go to find a parking spot, and once you do you park and pull out your phone, scrolling through your messages until you see the conversation you have with your best friend, Naomi.

Hey, wanna get drinks tonite?

You type and in no time at all, you receive an answer.

You kno im always down fo drinks, but y tho?

Flashbacks.

You answer simply, looking out to your son who has begun throwing with his teammates.

Oh. Okay, tonite.

With that you put your phone in your purse, hoping out of the car and walking to the trunk, grabbing a lawn chair and a blanket, ready to spend a chunk of the day watching baseball.

Part 2

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #Tony Stark x Black!reader #iron man x reader #iron man imagine #Iron Man #robert downey jr #marvel #marvel imagine

320 notes · View notes

vivalaskristie · 5 years

Text

Chapter 4 Meanwhile, Back at the Palace

Book: The Royal Romance (AU)

Series Premise: Parallel, behind the scenes, Madeleine and Bastien

A/N: This is my first series, my first AU, because Madeleine and Bastien needed to smash. I posted and then pulled it because it wasn’t quite right. It’s still a work in progress.

Warnings for this series: The first sex scenes I’ve ever written, bad language, sneaking around, alcohol, general mischief and the occasional academic symposium.

Permatags: @speedyoperarascalparty @burnsoslow @dcbbw @stopforamoment @emceesynonymroll

Chapter 1 Prelude

Chapter 2 Drinks on a Yacht

Chapter 3 A Dark and Stormy Night

Three months later, Bastien walked down to the track at the nearby high school, just after dusk. It was finally cooling off, and he was looking forward to having a run outside. The treadmill in the palace gym just wasn’t the same, and it never felt right to be in there with the nobles and courtiers anyway. Either they ignored him because of the differences in social stations, or they talked to him and most of the time he didn’t have a lot to contribute to the conversations.

He hopped the chain link fence around the track instead of using the gate 50 yards away. He dropped his towel on a bench, checked his shoes, and turned when he heard the sound of someone running behind him. It was her. Madeleine was here, and based on her flushed face and sweat-soaked shirt, she’d been here a while. She slowed for a couple of steps as she recognized him, but she hit her pace again almost immediately. He hadn’t seen her since the yacht. He’d watched her disembark and get into her limo and he figured that was the end of that story.

He jogged to the track and started his workout. She was about a third of the way around in front of him. As he warmed up, his pace increased. By the end of his 2nd lap, he was next to her. She had earbuds in, so there was no conversation. He matched her pace and they ran kind of together for a few laps, separated by a lane or two. She eventually slowed down as her run came to an end. He was aware of her stepping off the track finally, and she sat on the bench where his towel lay. He kept running. She remained on the bench, cooling off and drinking her water and scrolling on her phone. A couple of times he caught her watching him. A couple other times, she caught him watching her.

When he finished his final lap, he sat down beside her on the bench.

“Hello Bastien,” she said, in that wonderful scratchy voice that he’d heard in his dreams for three months now. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you as well. Please accept my congratulations on your engagement,” he said. There was no point in ignoring the fact of her impending nuptials.

“Thank you,” she answered. “I figured you’d be on the bachelor party world tour with the rest of the boys.”

“Not this time. I’m taking a couple weeks off before we have to start implementing security measures for the wedding.“

“Ah. So you’re not the one making sure that Leo and his American girlfriend aren’t discovered.”

Bastien was stunned. What did she know about Katie? How did she know about Katie? This was bad. Only Leo’s inner circle was supposed to be in that loop. Madeleine gave a low laugh when she saw his reaction. He looked at her, and his questions obviously showed on his face.

“Please. I’ve been playing this game for years. I pay attention. He never liked going to the States, until suddenly he liked going very much. And he’s a terrible liar.”

“And you’re still going through with the marriage?” Bastien asked.

“Of course. I’m going to be the Queen. She’s a mistress. That’s nothing new for people in Leo’s position. He’ll get tired of her, replace her. My place is secure.” It was brave talk, but her tone didn’t match her words. She sounded like it had been rehearsed, like she’d been coached…

“I see Adelaide’s been helping you come to terms,” he said coldly. She looked up sharply, her expression showing the hurt he heard in her voice. “I’m sorry. I overstepped.”

“Don’t be. You’re right. Mother has been making sure that I know that my duty is to remind Leo of his.”

He took her hand. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to be Queen.”

“No. That’s not what I meant. What do you want your life to be? Married in name and title only? That will be enough?” He wasn’t sure who the hell he thought he was, all of a sudden, asking the future Queen of the Realm about her personal thoughts on her marriage and future. He couldn’t help himself. Somebody needed to ask her, and nobody else seemed to be doing it.

She was still for a few seconds, considering her words carefully, and then she smiled. “Bastien, have you been reading fairy tales again? You know how this works. Leo doesn’t love me. I don’t love him. But we can be good with each other, and good for Cordonia.”

“Well I guess you’ve got it all figured out..” His eyes were on her, and no humor showed on his face.

“I always have,” she said softly. “Shall we go back?”

They rose, and walked together, Madeleine a step ahead of him as dictated by royal protocol. They didn’t speak again until they were inside the palace gate.

“Good night, Bastien.”

“Good night, Lady Mad.”

She blinked, remembering the note he left on the yacht and the hours they spent together. Her cheeks flushed, and he smiled faintly before he turned to walk away.

Later that evening, Madeleine was reading in the sitting room in her suite. Her quarters were well-appointed and positioned near enough to the Royal Family to establish her as one who belonged there. The balcony doors were open to allow the cool sea breeze to fill her rooms. Her phone buzzed. She picked it up to read the text:

You deserve better, Lady Mad.

She considered it for a moment, and then replied:

Yes, but Cordonia deserves the best

Within a minute her phone buzzed again in her hand. She smiled.

Can’t argue with any part of that.

She paused, wondering if she dared…

It’s certainly worth discussing further in person.

Bastien was lying on his bed as her last text flashed across his phone. As he read her words, heat filled his body. He’d been sure that their night together was a one-off, something that happens occasionally between nobles and palace staff but never lasts beyond a weekend. He stood up. Of course he was going to go to her. He pulled on dark clothes, something that wouldn’t draw attention if he were seen. He started to open his door and then shut it again. It wasn’t a good idea to just walk through the palace and show up at her suite. There was no way to explain that away. No, he’d need to take a different route.

He walked to his office and entered a code on the wall panel next to the bookshelf. The bookshelf swung open. He’d take the subway.

Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in a dimly lit narrow passage three floors above his own. I should warn her, he thought.

Go to your dressing room. You’re going to hear a knock.

She’d set her phone down after he hadn’t replied to her insanely bold text. She’d been disappointed, but not surprised. What was he going to do, skulk around the palace for a booty call? But now this was interesting. She stood up and walked through her bedroom to the dressing room. There was a single knock on the wall to her left. Before she could do anything, the wall became a door and Bastien was standing there.

The look on her face was priceless. “What…?”

“I thought it best to be discreet,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “May I come in?”

She smiled and walked back to her sitting room. She closed her book after marking her page, put it on the side table, and gestured for him to sit next to her on the sofa. They sat half-facing each other.

“I hope I’m not interrupting. Quiet evenings alone are rare around here.”

“No it’s fine. I was just reading. One of my mentors from school sent me his new book. He’s trying to get me to come back for my MPhil.”

His attention switched from the memory of the last time they were on a sofa to what she’d just revealed. She’d gone to Oxford, but he didn’t know much about what she’d done there. “Are you considering it? What did you study?”

“History and Economics. My honors thesis was about how a small traditional monarchy in the European Union can leverage its strategic geography and outsized capital to become an equal partner in the global economy. I may go back at some point in the future, but I have things going on here right now.”

What the hell did she just say? What just happened? He was riveted.

“You did academic research about Cordonia’s economy.”

“I did. Nobody really had before, so it was a blank slate.”

His mouth was literally hanging open. She smiled, knowing she had just taken control of the situation back from him after his little “meet me in the closet” stunt.

“Well, you see Cordonia’s location on one of the most lucrative trade routes in Europe has benefited us for centuries. The coastline allowed us to build ports that were accessible and still protected.” She stood up and began to pace in a circle as she talked. “We’ve had one of the most generous tax structures for imports and exports ever since the idea of tax structures for imports and exports was conceived.” She looked at him and saw that she had his undivided attention. The heat of his gaze was unmistakable. Was he … was he turned on? She decided to just go with it. With a twist. “When we opened the casinos in the middle of the 19th century”– she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a simple black bra–”we became the leading tourist destination for the new wealthy class of commoners. We welcomed their presence, and their money, like nobody else in Europe.”

Holy hell, what was she doing?

“Since then, Cordonia has been able to parlay its geopolitical position to its advantage through two world wars.” She approached him and knelt between his outstretched legs, resting her hands on his thighs. “We took a risk not staying neutral like Switzerland, but it’s always been our international policy to do the right thing. Our well-chosen strategic alliances resulted in strong positions with much more powerful nations.” She put her hand on his crotch and felt his erection. He looked like he was about to pass out. She stroked him with her finger.

“Today, we have one of the highest per capita GDPs in the world.” She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, looking him straight in the eye. “My conclusion was that we could, and we should, do more.” She pulled his cock out and appraised it with the same expression she wore as when she’d been talking about economics. “Don’t you agree?”

He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I do. I like more. More is amazing.”

She rose to her knees and licked the underside of his penis from base to tip. “I think so too.” Her lips closed around the head of his cock and he groaned as she took him further into her mouth. She made a sound low in her throat that he felt all the way up his spine. He felt her nails rake over his balls as she slowly raised her head. She dipped again, not breaking the suction between her soft hot lips. Her free hand snaked up under his shirt and over his chest, then she ran it down the length of his body, down his side to his thigh before bringing it to clasp her other hand as it worked the base of his cock.

Bastien’s muscles clenched from head to toe. He was close, so close and he didn’t want it to end but it had to. He ran his hand over the back of her head, not pushing, just feeling her move against him, around him, all over him. And then he broke, letting loose in her mouth. She kept going, not slowing down until he was still. His eyes were closed, but he knew exactly where she was as she raised her head one last time and released him.

She folded her arms and rested them on his thigh, laying her cheek on her forearms. She watched him as he breathed deeply a few times.

“I hope my seminar didn’t put you to sleep,” she remarked with a sly grin. Bastien hooked his hand under her arm to bring her onto his lap. She settled in the circle of his embrace. “I don’t get the chance to talk shop very much lately." He laughed softly.

"I have an entirely new respect for economic theory,” he said. “You really have a way of making it relatable." She flushed, but not out of embarrassment over the topic or the blowjob, quite frankly. She knew she was good at both.

They sat like that for a while, talking about whatever came to mind. This wasn’t small talk, or the usual chatter that happened inside the palace. They both had to work at that, and neither enjoyed it. This was different and comfortable and easy.

The balcony doors were still open and the room grew chilly. She nestled in closer, unconsciously seeking his warmth. They kept talking.

"Would you like to stay?” she asked after an hour more. “Can you? Do you have to be somewhere?”

“Technically I’m on vacation. I can be wherever I choose. I can stay." Bastien knew that this was happening on her terms, that every minute with her was stolen. He wasn’t about to leave if he had anything to say about it.

He stood up, lifting her with him. He carried her to the bedroom, leaning her toward the light switches so she could turn them off as he passed them. He set her on the bed, walked back out to close the balcony doors, and returned.

"Just in case we get loud,” he said and her smile became a laugh. He crossed over to her and kissed her. She pulled him down so he sat beside her, and he leaned in for more. They were already partially undressed–his pants were still undone and her shirt was in the other room. They slowly finished pulling each other’s clothes off, exploring with their hands and mouths. He kissed a faint thin line that crossed her belly on the right side where her appendix had been removed while she lived in England. She found scars shaped like stars, from gunshot wounds he received during the attack that killed Drake’s father. He ran his finger across her apple tattoo, which he had seen in his mind every day since that night on the yacht.

“Talk,” he said with a laugh. She rolled her eyes and blushed.

“Before I left for university, I went on vacation with Hana and Olivia and Penelope. We were close in school, before all of this… whatever it is, palace nonsense became important and got between us. We were on Ibiza, doing the rich Eurotrash thing, and Olivia got this idea that we should all get tattoos.”

Bastien’s eyes widened. All four of them?!

“Right. So we spent the day drinking and deciding what to get. It had to be meaningful, y'know?" She laughed at the memory. "It was our version of a blood vow. Penelope was on probably her tenth appletini and she had this amazing idea: we should get apples! The famous Cordonian Ruby! It was perfect! Hail Cordonia! We found a place that could take us all at once, and …” she pointed to her own apple on her abdomen.

Bastien’s expression was priceless. He looked about to burst.

“Go ahead, ask away.”

“Are they… are they all the same? In the same, uh, location?” He was laughing now.

Madeleine slowly shook her head, smiling wickedly. “And that’s all I’m going to tell you.”

Those were the last words they spoke for the rest of the night.

They slept late. Neither had anywhere to be the next day, so they lazed in bed, achy from the night’s adventures. They had gotten loud indeed. Bastien didn’t realize how badly he wanted to bite her, to grab her, to leave some sort of mark on her like an animal until he realized that he couldn’t. It was enough that she was covered in beard burn, some places more than others, he realized with no small amount of possessive pride.

Madeleine, however, had not hesitated to leave a trail of bites and scratches and handprints all over him. She knew that he’d been careful; she made up for it.

She rang for a late breakfast while he was getting into the shower so it would be on the table when they got out. And it was. It was cold, but it was there.

Leo was scheduled to return late that night. Neither of them mentioned it, but as they filled the hours with sex and words and silence and even a nap tangled around each each other, they both knew they were racing the clock. They made love once more as the sun disappeared over the sea. Afterward, Bastien got dressed as she watched from the bed, uncovered and unconcerned by it.

He sat down and kissed her again, memorizing her taste and scent, and how she touched him as she leaned toward him. “Bye, Lady Mad”

“Goodbye, Bastien”

They didn’t speak of what would or wouldn’t happen next. It didn’t matter.

Chapter 5

#trr #trr bastien #trr madeleine

2 notes · View notes

likethetailofacomet · 5 years

Text

Viewing Party

So the other night @ooo-barff-ooo and I were talking about how much we loved our TRR MCs, Claire Berkley and Joanna Malone, and how it would be cool if they were friends and I was like well what if they were and then this happened.

Without further ado, I give you the ultimate friendship of C and J, getting drunk together and watching everyone’s favorite fairy tale on live television: The Royal Romance- Liam and Riley’s wedding.

FEATURING: JOANNA MALONE, CLAIRE BERKLEY, AND DAN DAN THE BARTENDER MAN.

“See you tomorrow, Dan,” Claire called from behind the bar. “Same bat time, same bat place.” He said over his shoulder. He gave a one handed wave and strode toward the front door and sweet freedom. He’d been there since 11 am and it was approaching midnight- the joys of working a double shift- and he was due for another one in the morning, so he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Claire had come in at 5pm, and would sling drinks until last call at 4am, when the shift workers and doctors and construction guys and fisherman had had either thier first or last drinks of the night. Joanna would open, Dan would pull the double, and Claire would close. That was the general flow.

Tonight, though, was not a general night. At roughly 5 am EST the most anticipated marriage of the year would be televised live- the Cordonian Royal Wedding-New York bartender Riley Brooks was rising to the rank of queen as she married future king Liam Rys after falling in love with him in the most modern of Cinderella stories: she took out the trash at his bachelor bash and ended up stealing his heart and his hand.

Claire checked on her ten or so customers, making sure that all of their glasses were full before slipping into the closet they called a kitchen. There was a single basket fryer, a flat top that could fit no more than four frozen burger patties, and a coffee maker. She reached for the can of Folger's on the top shelf and scooped some of it into the brew basket before jamming it into the machine and pressing "start". She leaned against the counter ledge as she waited for the deep brown liquid to fill the little clear pot, pulling her phone from her apron to text Joanna.

-Hey girl, you're stopping for snacks right? I'm starving.

Jo had been off from work since 5pm when Claire got in. She'd gone home and taken a nap before running a few errands for the viewing party they'd been planning ever since they saw that first tabloid article about the Prince choosing his bride. Claire and Jo were not the type of girls who would normally get so involved in the billion dollar weddings of fancy rich nobles and dignitaries around the world- hell they had been invited to Steve's wedding- a guy they used to work with and actually knew without the need for magazine or television coverage- and despite their manager saying that they could close the bar for a night so everyone could go to the wedding, Claire and Jo declined, not really liking Steve...or weddings. "I have a school thing that night...um...presentation. Of my...thesis," Jo had said. She was working on her Master's degree while slaving at Keagan's, so her excuse seemed to work, even though it was a summer course and she wouldn't actually be working on her thesis for another five months. "And um, I have an...appointment that afternoon that....I can't reschedule..." Claire chimed in her thinly veiled excuse. She did have an appointment...for hair color...and she'd really rather not reschedule it just to go sit at Steve's wedding. But this wedding, dubbed "The Royal Romance" by the media, was a different story, namely for who would be standing next to the Prince as he said his "I do's".

-Um, did you see the pictures of the Prince's friend? The dude with the hair and the eyebrows and the denim? He's all the snack we need, C. (but yes I also got snacks for eating)

Claire laughed at Jo's response, typed out a quick one back saying how excited she was, and then poured herself a large black coffee before heading back to the bar to finish up her shift. As the last patron stumbled out the door and it shut with a tingling of bells, she flipped the sign to the closed side, locked the door and turned off the neon lights in the windows. She went back to the bar cooler and took a tray of jello shots out, setting them on the freshly cleaned bar top. She then went to her bag and took two brightly colored headbands that she’d attached lace and tooling and feathers and beads to, and set them next to the shots. Changing the channels on all the televisions to various news stations, she sat back and enjoyed the “pregame coverage” of the wedding while she waited for Joanna. Just as she finished the last of the coffee she’d brewed hours earlier, she heard a tapping at the window and looked over to see her friend waving excitedly and holding up a bag. Claire set her empty coffee mug down and crossed the bar to open the door and let Jo in.

“Welcome to the wedding of the century, Madame,” Claire greeted her with a flourish and a funny bow.

Jo did an awkward curtsy. “Why thank you Madame, so pleased I could join you.” The two dissolved into laughter and headed over to the bar. Joanna hopped up onto a stool and took stock of the things Claire had laid out while adding the bag she’d brought with her. She picked up one of the headbands and laughed. “Oh my god, Claire, did you really make us fascinators?”

Claire raised her eyebrows. “Um, yeah I made us fascinators! Riley has been obsessed with fancy hats throughout the whole social season! Homegirl would not shut up about them- like, every chance she could get to wear one she did and she even brought them up in interviews… I thought it would be weirder if I didn’t make us fascinators.”

“Good point. I really don’t know how Prince Liam is looking past that. He must really love that dizzball.” Joanna plopped the colorful headpiece on top of her noggin and Claire took the other one and shoved it into her frizzy hair. Next Joanna picked up one of the shots Claire had made. “Ew, Jell-o shots?” she made a face, pulling one half of her mouth up to show her disgust.

“Caramel apple jell-o shots, to be exact. You know, because Cordonia’s obsessed with apples? And caramel because I’m obsessed with caramel.” She shrugged. “Once we’re a few drinks in we won’t care if they’re gross.”

“So true my friend. So,” she opened the shopping bag she’d had with her and pulled out several small plastic containers. “We’ve got…olives…stuffed grape leaves…and, drum roll,” Claire obliged, rapping her pointer fingers on the bar top. “Baklava! You know cause,” Jo shrugged, “Cordonia, Greece…they’re sorta the same right?”

“Sure. Probably not but sure.” Claire laughed and Joanna tossed an olive at her.

“Okay well they are tonight. Also,” next she pulled out a sheet of paper. “I made up a drinking game for this here wedding.” On the screen they were showing a photo montage of Riley and Liam from all the different events from the social season. “Okay, rules- If anyone mentions apples, or there’s a flag with apples or we see an apple tree or they say “Cordonian Ruby”, we take one of these gross shots here,” she pointed to Claire’s Jell-o shots. “Any time we see fancy hats, or some noble lady curtsies or some dude in a suit bows, we take a sip of our ciders. If they call Riley “The American” we finish ‘em.”

“Wait, let me get this straight. You made up a drinking game with no whiskey involved?” Claire asked, skeptically narrowing her eyes at Joanna.

“I wasn’t done, C! Okay, so any time Mr. broody Mc Brooderson Drake Walker, love of our lives and real reason that we are watching this ridiculous wedding at 5am, is shown looking like he wants to kiss Riley, we do a shot of whiskey in his angsty honor. I was going to suggest Fireball but-“

“But you remember the holiday party from last year. Yeah, everyone does,” Claire hid her face in her hands embarrassed, preferring to forget that night and the drunken mess she’d been.

“Right. I remembered the holiday party and how Fireball turns you into a demon. So, I figured SoCo would do.”

“Yeah, that’s never made me dance on the bar while trying to fight Steve, so good call.”

Joanna nodded. “Any rules you want to add?”

Claire thought for a moment and then something blue and…unique…caught her eye on the screen. They were talking about Maxwell Beaumont again, and his propensity to wear themed suits. He had this hilarious blue suit with a squid on it; even the bow-tie was a tiny cephalopod. “Oh! Yes! Every time they have to pan away from that,” she pointed to Maxwell in the suit, “so as not to ruin a picture or a shot, we take a cider sip.”

Joanna laughed. “Deal. Oh! Its starting!!” She spun her stool so she could lean back against the bar to watch. Claire poured them each a cider and they clinked them together before taking a sip, pinkies out. “Ugh, and to think, this girl worked right down the street from us. Like, this coulda been us, C!”

Claire blinked before they both burst into laughter. “Yeah we’d both make excellent queens, I’m sure.”

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

Dan unlocked the bar door and opened it, setting the bells jingling. Before he had even set one foot inside, he heard the raucous laughter of his two best friends, and shook his head wondering what he was about to walk into. “Is it just me, Jo, or does the Queen Mother look like a Royal Ducking Bitch?” Claire’s voice was sing songy and full of laughter.

Joanna was laying her arms and top half on the bar top, laughing hysterically, almost to the point where she couldn’t get her words out. She managed to respond, “Quack, mother ducker!!” before giggles swallowed her ability to speak further.

“Did…did you two really just autocorrect yourselves?” Dan called, hands on his hips taking in the scene in front of him. They each had a funny looking headband dangling from their heads, empty jello glasses littered the bar, and at least three shots of whiskey each sat next to them. If only Drake hadn’t been pining for Riley The American Queen so badly, they wouldn’t have had to nearly finish the bottle of SoCo.

“Yes, Dan, we are at a fancy ducking event here.” Claire pointed to her fascinator, to how it was barely staying together after she and Jo had danced and drank and laughed and flopped against the bar top.

“Yeah, and we can’t be ducking rude and curse like sailors, Dan!” Joanna chimed in. “The Queen would not allow it!”

“She would not!” they had put on silly accents by now, not coming anywhere close to the Cordonian accent…or any accent in the world, really, but forcing so much laughter from one another that they cried.

“Okay tweedles C and J,” Dan clapped them both on the back. “Outta my bar, you drunkards. Go sleep off the wedding, I’ll see you back for your shifts in a few hours.” Now it was his turn to laugh almost to the point of tears, as they both groaned thinking about bartending while hungover at 3 in the afternoon.

“Worth it,” Jo said to Claire, high fiving her sloppily.

“Totally.” Claire answered.

tagging people who i think might find this funny even though its really the most gratuitous thing i’ve ever posted: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @brightpinkpeppercorn @zaffrenotes @endlessly-searching-for-you @mind-reader1 @andy-loves-corgis @agent-bossypants

#claire berkley #joanna malone #frands #trr #the royal romance #c & j au #viewing party #girl gang #fascinating fascinators #fancy hats #pinkies out #riley brooks #liam rys #liam x riley #liam x mc

32 notes · View notes

iwroteinapastlife · 5 years

Text

The Catacombs

Lila hates the catacombs. The dank basement of the library always smells like old books and dust and she doesn’t understand how anyone can like that smell.

If she hadn’t already exhausted all the other study spots on campus, she would never even step foot down here. But it seemed coffee shops were no longer going to work with her, and there was no way she’d ever be able to focus in her house while her roommates cried over The Bachelor.

Thus the circumstances that bring her down to the cramped little study rooms in the catacombs.

The midterm break is three days away, making it essay and exam season. The one time in the semester that study rooms are all taken up. She’s going to have to work some magic.

The room at the far end of the hall is the biggest one—which isn’t saying much. That’ll be her target.

Inside is some guy she’s never seen before. That’s not uncommon on such a big campus, but he looks just a bit too old to be a student. She might even think he’s a really really young professor with the stuffy jacket and dorky grandpa glasses he’s wearing.

With dark red hair pinned back out of the way of deep blue eyes, she thinks he could be cute if he had any sense of style. But as it is, he wears that stuffy professor jacket over a t-shirt of all things, along with some weird bug necklace and a tacky orange scarf to top it all off, like what even. On the table in front of him is a laptop, a to-go coffee cup, and some musty old books scattered about.

Everything about him screams geek. Should be a piece of cake.

She cracks the door open with her best innocent, saccharine smile. Adopting the sweetest, most gentle of voices, she asks if she can have the study room. “It’s just…I always use this room and I can’t focus anywhere else and I have a huge essay due tomorrow.”

He stares at her a moment, expression absolutely unreadable. Then suddenly,

“Are you a theatre major?”

…

“What?”

“I asked if you’re a theatre major.”

Lila blinks. Perhaps the most surprising thing here is the complete innocence in his question. His tone isn’t snarky or malicious in any way; he’s genuinely just asking.

“Um…No, why?”

“Oh.” He shrugs and turns back to his work. “You’re just really good at acting.”

She bristles. “Excuse me? Acting?”

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah I almost believed you despite the fact that I use this study room almost every day.” The way he says it is almost like he’s complimenting her. No aim to humiliate; he’s just stating the truth as he knows it. “And when I’m not using it, I’m down here in the catacombs.” He glances up for just a couple seconds to get a confirming look of her. “And I’ve never seen you before.”

Okay, time to switch tactics.

“Okay, so I don’t always use this study room. But I really can’t focus anywhere else and I desperately need to get this paper done.”

“And I do always use this room, know from experience that I can’t focus anywhere else, and also need to get work done.” He keeps typing as he speaks, completely nonchalant.

“Do you even go here? You look too old to be a student.”

“I’m 26 and I’m a grad student.” He finally looks up then with a tired expression. “Look I’m sorry but you’re distracting me. Can you please go away?”

“I’m sorry,” she rebukes, “but you’re keeping me from work. Can you please go away?”

He sighs. He seems about as done with this conversation as she is.

“If you promise to be quiet, you can sit at the other end of the table. There’s an outlet over there and everything.”

She rolls her eyes but acquiesces, guessing this is probably the best she’s going to get.

He really is quiet the entire time. He doesn’t listen to music or anything and he’s probably the most focused person she’s ever seen. It’s surprisingly easy to get work done around him; with how quiet he is aside from the very steady clicking of his keyboard, she can almost forget he’s even there. She makes surprising headway on her essay.

When she leaves, she doesn’t say anything and neither does he—still just typing away. She wonders if he even notices. She also wonders if he’s going to work through the night. The library closes at some point, right?

The next day he’s there again. He’s wearing a different t-shirt though and his scarf is a slightly different shade of orange, so he must have left eventually.

“I thought your paper was due today.”

“Different paper.” It’s not.

They agree to work in silence again. Her paper really is due tomorrow this time and she manages to finish it before some ridiculous hour of the night. This is some of the most productive work she’s ever done. There’s something very therapeutic about his keyboard clicking. And every time she starts burning out, she just looks up and watches him in his intense focus for a couple minutes. It works really well to keep her going somehow.

His coffee cup goes untouched. She’s pretty sure it’s empty. He really ought to drink some water or something.

“Another paper?” he asks when she shows up the next day. He’s on to her.

“This time I’m studying for an exam.” It’s actually the truth for once. She doesn’t even bother asking if she can share the room this time; she just walks in and drops her textbook on the table. “Not that it’s inconceivable to have three papers. I once had six all due on the same day.” It was five and they were spread across two days.

He looks at her with mild confusion for a second before he shrugs and looks back at his laptop. “Fair enough.” Then it’s silence and therapeutic clicking again.

The next day she thinks there’s no way he’s there. It’s officially break. Most of the school is gone. She’s just one of the few who prefers to stay on campus.

She thinks maybe she’s right when she shows up early in the morning and he isn’t there.

Then he arrives a few minutes later. His hair is wet from a shower and he’s actually drinking from the coffee cup in his hand. He looks confused.

“You’re still here?”

“I could say the same about you.”

“I actually live in the area, what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t like going home.”

The grunt he makes sounds slightly sympathetic. “I can understand that.” He sits down and stays getting his stuff out. “If you’re done with midterms though, why are you here?”

“I have a big paper due right after break.”

“What subject?”

This is the most talkative he’s ever been. She doesn’t mind it exactly; it’s just different.

“Politics.” He just sort of nods and doesn’t really respond. “What about you? What are you working on?”

“My thesis.”

“For what?”

“Archaeology.”

Wow that makes sense. His outfit screams fossils.

Again they work in silence. She notices that he only eats a granola bar around lunch time while she brought herself a sandwich. And as she suspected, it’s just the one cup of coffee and nothing else all day.

The next day she gets there before him again. And again it’s just a cup of coffee and a granola bar.

The day after that, she thinks she might have caught a hint of a smile on his lips when he walks in, though she can’t be sure.

“You beat me again.”

“What, like it’s some sort of race?” He just gives her a quizzical look. It totally is.

They don’t say much else, just get to work. She eats a salad for lunch that day. He has a cup of coffee and a granola bar.

And the same the next day.

The day after that, when she’s getting out her lunch,

“Hey, catch.”

He looks up just in time to catch the orange she tosses him. “What…?”

“You’ve just been eating a granola bar every day. Eat something real for once.”

“I eat real food when I’m at home.”

“And how often are you at home?”

…

He doesn’t say anything else, just accepts the orange. Then she rolls a bottle of water across the table. He opens his mouth as if to object, but fizzles the second she meets his gaze.

The next day he shows up with two cups of coffee in his hands.

“I took a guess and got you a caramel macchiato.” He looks extremely nervous and awkward as he holds it out to her with a rigid arm.

She takes it. “Thanks. That’s my favorite.” The look on his face says that he knows she’s lying. She wonders what her tell is that he’s picking up on.

“Um…” He scratches the back of his head. He’s still standing there awkwardly. “What’s your name?”

Oh. Oh. They never exchanged names. She realizes she doesn’t know his either.

“Lila. You?”

“Jalil.” He looks really relieved when they shake hands. “Nice to meet you, Lila.”

There’s only a week left of break but pretty much every day goes like that. Jalil brings her coffee in the morning and she gives him some actual food for lunch. And they share comfortable silence and get work done.

Lila finishes her essay with two days to spare. As she’s packing up her stuff that day,

“So do you just live in the library?”

“Basically,” he shrugs. “When working on a doctoral thesis, it’s much more convenient to—,”

“Wait, a doctoral thesis!?”

He pauses, nervous. “Yeah…?”

“Didn’t you say you’re 26?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“How are you already getting a doctorate!?”

“I just take a lot of classes,” he responds, shoulders hunched.

Wow. She didn’t know someone could be so much of a nerd that it actually impressed her.

“So are you going to be done after this semester?”

“Not by a long shot. I’m aiming to finish in the spring.” Same for her, except with her bachelor’s.

She smiles, and tries to ignore the relief she feels knowing that he’s going to be around another semester. “Cool.”

The next few weeks go by far too fast. When classes start up again, she finds a rhythm of heading to the library after dinner every night and staying until around 11. Jalil is there without fail every single time. And every time she enters the room, he greets her with a small smile.

Even if she isn’t there for lunch, she still brings him fruit to eat. She’s about 80% sure he isn’t eating healthy—or at all—throughout the day.

As finals approach, she starts staying later.

“Hey, you’re not going to take advantage of the library being open 24 hours for finals are you?” she asks one day.

Jalil looks up from his laptop with pursed lips.

“…No.”

“I’m way better at lying than you are.”

The first night of finals week though, she ends up staying there with him through the night. This research paper has been an absolute thorn in her side and she’s determined to finish it that day so she can actually spend time studying for her other finals.

Jalil gets up around midnight and says he’ll be right back. She figures he’s going to the restroom or something. When he returns though, he has two cups of coffee and a bag of pastries from the library café.

She smiles when he hands her the drink. “Thanks.” By now he knows that her favorite is raspberry mocha.

When Lila finally finishes her paper it’s about 5 am.

“Okay,” she says as she shuts her laptop. Jalil looks up at her. How can he look as awake as he always does when she feels like death? Does he just never sleep?

“Did you do it?” She nods. He smiles. “Nice.”

She pauses to smile back. She’s so tired and worn down and something about his smile just feels like the warm blanket that she needs right about now.

She slips her bag over her shoulder and points at him accusingly. “Go home soon, okay?”

His smile widens and it’s…gosh, it’s warm. “I will.”

“Goodnight, Jalil.”

“Good morning, Lila.”

Her internal clock is all fucked up the next day. When she wakes up the sun is setting. Her breakfast is dinner and she feels like her day is just beginning when she goes down to the catacombs.

“Question,” she says as she walks in. She drops a stack of heavy text books on the table. “How the hell do you get up for an 8 am final when you spend all night in the library and mess up your sleep schedule?”

He chuckles. “I force myself to stay awake the whole day and then go to bed around 6 pm.”

She stares blankly at him. “That sounds awful.”

“It is.”

He says it with a smile though and it’s far too charming for her to dread the long night ahead.

She moves to sit adjacent to him halfway through the night when she gets out some apple slices and peanut butter to share.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. He seems even more consumed in his work than usual. He’s been glaring at the screen with a slight frown for a while.

“Something wrong?”

“I can’t find this source in any of the languages I read.”

“What language is it in?” she asks, leaning over to look at his screen.

“Italian.”

“Oh, I can help you.”

He pauses and turns to her with a skeptical eyebrow raised. “You read Italian?”

She nods. “It’s my first language.”

He narrows his gaze, scrutinizing her features. “Are you lying to me again?”

She rolls her eyes. “No.” Then she scoots her chair closer and focuses on his laptop. “Show me.”

The article isn’t too long, but it takes them hours to get through it because she keeps stopping to ask him questions. He doesn’t seem bothered though. She learns that his thesis is focused on comparing ancient mythologies across the world, noting patterns and drawing connections. It’s far from the most interesting thing in the world for her, but it’s oddly engaging when he talks about it. He’s so intimately familiar with the material that when he describes it, he speaks more like a narrative storyteller than some dry archaeologist.

It’s…really cute.

She knows her sleep schedule is really fucked when 6 am rolls around and she isn’t even tired. She’s done studying for the night though. She’s gone over her notes enough times she can practically recite them. She’s completed all her study guides and double checked every answer. She even did all the review questions in her text books. She’ll take some time to go over everything again before each exam, but she’s pretty much set for the rest of finals.

“How much longer do you plan on staying here?” she asks. Jalil checks his watch. “I dunno. I’m not really tired, but I should probably eat soon.”

She thinks for a moment, just watching him go over the notes he took from her translation.

“Want to go get breakfast with me?”

She watches as his eyes still on the page. He blinks a few times before turning to look at her. “What?”

“Breakfast. You know, one of those actual meals that people who don’t live in libraries eat? There’s a place down the street that makes some of the best crepes I’ve ever tasted.” And that is most certainly not a lie.

He keeps blinking at her, evidently surprised by her words, and a bit of pink rises to his cheeks. “I…um…okay.”

It’s not until they’re walking down the street that she realizes he’s taller than her. The guy is all leg, so sitting in the chair across the table, she couldn’t really tell. Even if she’d seen him standing a few times, she’d never actually stood next to him. It’s weird.

Conversation carries between them naturally as she asks more questions about his research. He’s awkward at first—admittedly, it does feel really weird to interact with him outside of the library—but he’s quickly put at ease talking about his work. She can hear his passion in his voice and see it in the way he waves his arms animatedly while speaking. She never knew someone could get so hyped up over archaeology but she supposes he would have to love it to pursue a doctorate in it.

“So why archaeology?” She asks when they receive their food.

“My father’s an archaeologist, so I got interested in it at a young age.”

Perhaps if she were paying more attention she might have noticed the way his smile faded then. But as it is, she’s mostly focused on her food and goes on, oblivious.

“Oh that’s cool. You two must have a lot to talk about then.”

“Um…no.”

She looks up when she hears the tenseness in his voice. Though he picks up his fork to start eating as normal, she doesn’t miss the hard look in his eyes or the way his jaw is set.

“Touchy subject?”

He presses his lips together and looks up with a shrug. “Yeah, a little bit.”

She nods and goes back to her food. “I get that. There’s a reason I don’t go home for breaks. So what other languages do you know?” She doesn’t miss the way his expression eases after that.

It takes five cups of coffee strategically spaced throughout the day and her friends keeping her constantly engaged in conversation, but Lila manages to stay awake until 6. When she finally lays down that night, it’s the deepest sleep she’s had in years.

She wakes up at the crack of dawn feeling mildly refreshed but also strangely out of it. Her shower helps, but she’s glad she doesn’t have her first exam until tomorrow so she can have a day to adjust.

When she makes her way down to the catacombs, she finds herself smiling as she breathes in the scent of old books. When did she start liking that smell?

In the study room she finds Jalil…asleep. Completely passed out with his head in a dusty book and his computer dormant in front of him. Worried and amused—mostly amused—she approaches and gently shakes his shoulder.

He sighs out a delicate hum—the sound of it sweet and oddly soothing. She takes a seat on the table in front of him.

“Jalil, wake up. You’ve been in a coma for three years.”

He opens his eyes and glares at her, brow furrowed in confusion. Then he sits up and puts on his glasses. “You’re lying,” he says in a relieved sigh as he realizes who she is.

“Yeah, that one I’ll admit to,” she smiles playfully. As he stands up and stretches sore muscles, she notices his hair is even messier than usual. The part on top that he keeps pinned back is all loose and frizzy.

“What?” he asks when he notices her eyeing him.

“Come here,” she says, reaching out toward his head. The table is just the right height that he only has to dip his head the slightest bit for her to reach. He looks confused, but he doesn’t question it as she pulls the bobby pins out. His hair is so course that it mostly stays back, but it springs up from his head making him look like a mad scientist. She giggles lightly at the sights and sticks the pins between her teeth. Then she combs her fingers through his hair and pins it back in place.

It isn’t until she sits back again that she notices the way he’s looking at her.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

That look has her heart skipping.

“It…um…it would have bothered me.” She glances around, forcing herself to pull her gaze from those eyes. “So why were you passed out in here? Did you not go home and sleep yesterday?”

When she looks at him again, his lips are pursed in that way he does when he doesn’t want to admit something. “I…went home and showered. And then came back.”

“Jalil.”

He looks away and scratches the back of his head with a nervous smile. “I knew you were probably going to come back in the morning and I didn’t want to leave you here alone.”

Warmth prickles through her chest, but she tries not to let it show.

“It’s okay to leave me here alone.”

Those perceptive eyes zero in on her, but she stays strong. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “It’s not like it matters if you’re here or not.” A knowing smile comes to his lips. “What?”

“You’re lying.”

“What? No I’m not.”

“Yeah you are.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay so I like your presence, that doesn’t mean anything.” His smile widens more as his gaze darts back and forth between her eyes. “What?”

He doesn’t answer her. He just smiles and the next thing she knows, a warm hand cups her jaw, fingers threading through the hair at the base of her neck. He leans in slowly, giving her time to react.

Her only reaction is to tilt her head to meet his.

His kiss is gentle, sweet, and combined with the fuzziness from her lack of sleep, it renders her absolutely breathless.

When he parts from her, he’s still wearing that grin, only it’s even wider now.

“Liar.”

#jalila #miraculous ladybug #college au #well i guess i ship this now #Natalie it's all your fault

7 notes · View notes