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renjunfromthestars · 4 years

Text

more than

Pairing: Mark + reader, Bestfriend! Mark, Childhood friend!Mark

Genre: Fluff, angst, honestly a little bit of crack LOL

Song recs: Best friend + Untitled + Waiting Room (Rex Orange County), Sofia (Clario)

Warnings: Mild swearing and mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 7.0k (my longest fic yet, wow!)

Summary: You’ve known Mark for all your life, and it only takes one drunken night (plus a little intervention with Haehcan) to think that you wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better...

Notes: The fact that I actually had the patience to sit down and to write something above 3k words,,,,absolutely astounding, amazing, unique, never been seen before…. Mark is a little awk and always works so hard (poor bby), so imagining him as a super stressed pre-med major and oblivious best friend absolutely wrecks me thank you goodbye

----

When you first meet Mark, you’re eight years old, and it’s at church. He’s dressed in his Sunday best: a light blue button up, khakis, and shiny dress shoes. He looks stiff as your mother introduces you two, with his shirt buttoned all the way to the collar.

It’s not that you dislike him, but you think he might dislike you, with the way he avoids eye contact, eyes tracing the floor, your shoes—anywhere but your face.

You see panic flash through his eyes when his mom gently pushes him towards you, telling him to take you inside and reserve a spot in the pews while she catches up with your mom.

He shuffles awkwardly, and wordlessly, you follow him into the building.

The pews are almost empty, with the bulk of them being filled in the front by the old people that usually have nothing better to do on their Sunday mornings. Although your local church is on the smaller side, it feels unusually large with rows of empty pews, almost eerie. You shudder at shadows the walls make with the stained glass, and hurry to your usual spot towards the middle.

If Mark notices your apprehension, he doesn’t say anything. He’s oblivious, actually, not noticing your absence until he’s almost at the end of the rows. When you see him stop and search for you frantically, you stifle a laugh.

He eventually finds you, and after shuffling awkwardly between the pews, makes his way to you.

“This is kinda far, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“I mean,” he stammers. “I usually sit closer to the front. ”

You peer at him from the side. “You actually want to pay attention?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well yeah, isn’t that the point?”

“I guess,” you say, looking at the ceiling. With the sprawling arches and patterns, the designs are pretty, you think.

“You should at least try, it’s kinda interesting,” when you turn your head to look at him he turns away. “Only if you want to, of course.” he adds, fidgeting with his hands.

When you tell him that maybe you will, you see him crack a small smile.

It becomes a routine, almost every Sunday, with you and Mark sitting next to each other. Whether it’s closer to the front or the back, it’s a whole debate. You usually give in, because when you walk in, Mark is already waiting for you in the front.

….

“Do you still go to Church?”

You’re laying on a green bean bag in Mark’s dorm room, procrastinating on the midterm paper you were supposed to get started on, well, a week ago.

You think for a second, hand raised to rub your chin, just to tease him. “What’s church?”

“C'mon dude, are you serious?”

“Barely,” you say, standing up to move to sit on his bed. “You should really get a new bean bag, it’s kinda deflated.”

Mark ignoring you, reaches over from his desk to fluff up the bean bag. “It’s because you sit on it so much.”

“Are you calling me fat?” and before he can defend himself you finally answer him, “I stopped going in like, middle school. It would be hard even if I wanted to, to find a whole new congregation, and I’m just busy. Also, it’s so boring, I could cry.”

Mark perks up. “Not if you go with me.”

You groan dramatically, and Mark chuckles.

“Good to know that you haven’t changed since you were eight.”

It’s just your view on church, that hasn’t changed since you were eight. First thing things first, you were 19 now, going on twenty. You’re in University now, your second year. It’s been a blur assignments, partying, coffee and term papers- you don’t have time to think about anything else right now. Except maybe actually starting your paper but-

Mark interrupts you midthought, breaking the silence. “Are you still with that guy?”

“Huh? Who? Yuta?”

“Yeah,” Mark responds sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

You roll your eyes. “No, we haven’t been together for a while. It wasn’t that important so I forgot to tell you.”

You can tell he's surprised about how unusually calm you are for talking about your first serious breakup, but he doesn’t say anything, instead just scratching the back of his head awkwardly in typical Mark fashion. “He was an asshole anyway,” Mark murmurs.

“What did you say?” you ask, acting shocked. “Mark Lee? Talking shit?”

Mark, embarrassed, refuses to repeat it.

“I’m just saying, he wasn’t the right person for you.” he protests.

“As opposed to who? God himself?”

“I can think of a few,” he sighs, but you aren’t paying attention, instead laughing your ass off on his bed.

“You’re insufferable,” he says, standing up to open the door. “C’mon let’s go, I’m hungry. I know you’re not starting that paper anytime soon.”

…

It’s a routine, seeing Mark on Monday afternoons for lunch. Not Friday, because you were busy getting wasted, and consequently not Saturday, because you were too hungover. Not Sunday, because Mark had church, and you, well, were busy praying to God that you would be able to finish all the work you’d neglected over the weekend as a result.

“I still don’t understand why you choose the worst day of the week for this,” you say over your Kale caesar salad, pushing the leaves around aggressively. The University had a lot of healthy options, which you were grateful for. Grateful for you were not, were for the student loans you had to pay off every month, the exorbitant amount you partially owed to all the local and expensive organic produce the meal plan featured for the sake of being sustainable and health conscious.You could really give a rat’s ass about whether your salad was organic or not; if your weekends said anything about you, no amount of kale could help you (or your liver).

“It wasn’t really up to me,” Mark points out. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy being-”

“Ta ta ta,” you tsk, waving a finger around. “I, unlike you, actually have a social life.”

Mark frowns. “I have a social life.”

Mark definitely had a social life. He was popular, even. As popular as you can be, being a preoccupied Pre-med with perfect grades. Mark is likeable. It’s not like he doesn’t have the opportunity to go on weekends if wanted to, he just chooses not to, deciding to slave away at biological functions, orbitals, and lab results instead. Even now, as he takes his glasses off to clean them, you notice the imprint they leave on his face from how long they’ve been sitting on his face, and doesn’t take you long to find the dark circles that grace the skin under his eyes: he’s exhausted.

You frown too. “You should really get out more Mark. You seem stressed.”

Mark gives you a small smile after putting his glasses back on, and then resumes typing on his laptop. “I don’t know how going out would make me less stressed,” he says, distracted. “I would only be more stressed, knowing the work I have to do.”

“Yeah, but you're pretty organized.” You point your fork at him accusingly, kale falling to the side. “Don’t you usually finish things early too?”

“Yeah, I do.” he admits, and before you can press onwards you’re interrupted by a girl you recognize to be his lab partner.

Goggles in hand, you can see the marks they leave around her eye area, but she’s somehow still annoyingly beautiful, with her glossy straight hair and long eyelashes, but that’s not why you dislike her. She might be the most stuck up girl you’ve ever met.

“Did you do the calculations yet?” she says, turning to Mark. ignoring you. It’s only when you cough in your seat that she turns to you. “And hello, (y/n).” An afterthought.

“Hello Yebin,” You give her a wry smile. “How's the lab?”

“The usual.” she glances at Mark, who seems to be doing some finishing touches on said calculations. “How’s Chem 2?”

Boy, does she really grind your gears.

“It was fine, I actually placed out because I took it in high school.” Not to mention, it was a class for freshmen, and you were in fact, now a sophomore.

Before she can say anything back, Mark claps his hands in celebration. “Done! Sorry it took me so long, I just had to double check some things.”

“It’s no problem,” and with the way her voice drips with a sickly sweetness, you want to gag. It’s so painfully obvious. “Are you still down for tomorrow?”

Poor Mark, always oblivious, stops typing on his laptop and looks up in confusion. “Huh?”

You silently laugh at the expression Yebin makes when she realizes Mark has no idea what she’s talking about. “For our study session? The MCAT is just months away.”she reminds him.

Mark remembers. “Oh yeah, about that, I was thinking we could also invite-”

“Great!” she chirps, “See you tomorrow!” and with a flash of her white lab coat, she's gone.

Mark scratches the back of his head. “I guess she had somewhere to be.”

You roll your eyes for what it seems like the 100th time this week, anymore and they might be permanently stuck to the back of your head. “She definitely likes you.”

“Who? Yebin? No way.”

“Yes, Yebin, and yes way.” You fling a walnut from your salad over to his side, and he cringes.

“What is your problem?” he grumbles, and resumes typing on his laptop.

You drop the subject, because you know any talk on girls is completely lost on him. As you set aside your salad, you peer over at Mark, palm supporting your face. He’s focused, eyebrows slightly furrowed, with his lips mouthing over silently whatever science journal he was reading on his computer screen.

Mark has always been good looking, you think. You don’t know why you’ve never really noticed it before. His nose bridge gently slopes over his face, and his jawline is sharp, having lost his baby cheeks years ago. He works out often too, although he barely talks about it (maybe out of fear you’d tease him for being a gym bro). And with the way he’s so adorably awkward, It’s no surprise really, that every girl friend that you’ve met of his seems to be completely smitten.

Shaking your head, you snap out of it. It’s dangerous to think of Mark that way, you think. You’ve known him too long.

“My problem? I think you’re the one with the problem here. I’m surprised your hair isn't completely gray by now.”

Mark ignores you, probably mad at the fact you tried to start world food war three with him with a walnut.

“Hey.” you flick at his forehead to get his attention, and he flinches.

“There’s a party this weekend at Johnny’s fraternity, you should come.” Johnny, being both your long time mutual friend (who’s demeanor is way too nice to fit the stereotypical frat boy image, really) who has since stopped asking Mark out of respect for his “med school grind”.

“I’m already planning on it,” he responds, and you’re surprised.

“Since when do you actually accept party invitations?”

“Since yesterday, because I’m tired of Haechan bothering me about it.”

You silently cheer, of course, you expect nothing else from Haechan.

…

“I never knew it was so hard to get booze.”

“It’s not hard if you’re 21.”

Scoffing, you turn your head to face the boy across from you. As if he can feel the burn of your gaze on his forehead, Haechan stops typing on his Macbook and lifts his eyes to meet yours.

“No shit Sherlock, but last time I checked, we both weren’t 21.”

The sun had set a half an hour ago, and despite having spent the whole afternoon together, you and Haechan have had yet to come up with a way to secure the drinks you promised your friends for tonight’s pregame. With both of you being certified schemers representing your respective friends, you guess it wasn’t that big of surprise that the responsibility was left on both your shoulders. It beat scavenging alone, and spending time with Haechan wasn’t so bad either, when you two weren’t trying to kill each other.

It was already late, and Haechan had deemed Ubering to the nearest packer store that sold Soju (the sweet sweet liquid of choice) was too much work. You on the other hand, had dismissed that option for a completely different reason. The issue in question was the flimsy, borderline pathetic excuse for a fake ID Haechan planned to use at the packer store.

“Hey it works!” he protested. “You just act like you’re already legal and they don’t even card you. Easy.”

You roll your eyes as Haechan theatrically reenacts his last trip to the packer store.

“I asked him how he was doing, and he told me school sucks. I say to him, ‘Tell me about it, thank god this is my last year!” and as if to emphasize his next point, he flicks his wrist in the air, ID snuggled between his index and middle finger. “And I was on my way. No issue at all.”

“That’s because he didn’t even see your fake I.D stupid. He would’ve called you out on your bullshit in an instant.”

Out of all the different options available, you could not fathom why he chose his fake ID to show that from all the places in this world, he was from freaking Hong Kong. There were fifty states to choose from, other English speaking countries, and he chose to pose as an international student on a student visa. He could most definitely look the part, but after looking at the ID he proudly slaps on the common room lounge desk, you deadpan. The yellowish tint to the card was way too suspicious to be taken seriously.

“I wish we could just ask Mark,” you sigh, and Haechan looks at you like you’re stupid.

“He’s 20, ya dimwit.”

“I know, that’s why I said I wish. You have serious hearing problems.”

Haechan stops typing on his laptop to shoot you an especially heated glare, and you’re reminded again why he’s #2 on your fight list, right above Yebin. First place was taken by the girl you almost actually fought at that one University party a town over, wherever she is you hope she’s having a terrible day.

“If it were not for the rules of this land, you’d be dead right now Haechan.”

Haechan places his head in his palms, and flutters his eyelashes disgustingly.

“But you love me.”

“Yes, as much as Mark loves social events. Speaking of Mark, how on earth did you get him to leave his cave?”

“It didn’t take much,” and before you can call him out for lying, he shushes you.

“Okay, maybe a few days of nonstop begging.” Haechan says as his eyes dart across the laptop screen. You raise your eyebrow. “And I might have threatened to release pictures from the photoshoot his mom made him take when he was younger.”

“I expected nothing less from your evil, evil, mind.”

He scoffs. “Hardly. Just resourceful.”

Resourceful he is, because Haechan is the one who ends up finding a plug for the alcohol that night.

…

A can of four loko, a bottle of soju, and a few shots later, you should be hammered, wasted even. But after 14 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days into college, your tolerance is pretty high, so you’re really just plain drunk. Even so, you’re a little messy (no surprise). You’re not in a state to be trusted with any errands, so you don’t understand why Haechan asks you to pick up Mark along the way to Johnny’s fraternity.

“Why do I have to do it?” you whine, putting your hand over your forehead, and Haechan only laughs at your dramatic display of despair.

“Because Johnny messaged me that Mark isn’t there, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him flake on me this time. ”

You point a finger at him, and he stifles a snort when you’re off by a couple inches. “Letting him flake on me, me, me as in you! It’s not my problem.”

But there’s no use in arguing with Haechan, and you know it. That’s why you find yourself stomping your way up the second floor of Mark’s dormitory like you’re in elementary school again, having just been scolded by your mom and being forced back into your room.

You knock at his door impatiently, and it feels like forever until you hear some shuffling, and see the door knob twist open. To be honest, it’s probably just a few seconds, but time is different when you’re intoxicated.

Before you even see him, it smells faintly of shampoo and detergent, so you’re not surprised when he opens the door and you see his hair is still half wet from the shower. He’s definitely party ready, and when you mean party ready, he’s wearing the same loose black tee and grey joggers he wears to sleep. His socks don’t match and you try not to laugh, because it would be a bad look for you, to show up intoxicated, and apparently crazy.

“Oh (y/n), what are you doing here? Oh shit is today Friday? I totally forgot, Haechan is going to kill me-'' He looks at you and then pauses, scrunching up his nose. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.” you say sarcastically, but it definitely falls short of Mark because he looks at you like he does not believe you. Good, because he shouldn’t.

He sighs, and ushers you in his room. It’s dark, with the only light emitting from the little steel lamp on his desk, which is covered with his notes, pencils, a textbook, and some highlighters. When you finally make your way to his bed (with difficulty) he sighs again, and you silently scold yourself for having that mini drinking contest with Haechan. If you thought you could handle your alcohol well, Haechan was an absolute monster.

You nearly screech when Mark flashes a mini flashlight in your face, and he tells you to calm down before someone thinks he’s committing murder. He holds your face still with his index finger resting on your cheek and his thumb lifting your chin. You try your best not to squint when he tells you to, instead focusing on his face. He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. If you weren’t already so flushed from drinking, you suspect you’d look beet red now.

“Well, your pupils still dilate normally, so I don’t think you have alcohol poisoning-”

The world is moving a little, so you plop backwards on his bed— albeit a little harder than expected because he rushes over to you and looks concerned.

“-but I don’t think that’s the problem here.” he finishes.

Your eyes are closed, mainly because his bed is really comfy. “I’m here to pick you up.” and as if to emphasize your point, you wildly start pointing in all directions, hoping it would land on him.

You open your eyes when you feel him grab your finger and turn it thirty degrees to the left, just stopping at his chest. Your sense of direction must be really bad, because it turns out you were pointing at nothing.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere for awhile”

“Noooooo” you wail, and Mark lets go of your hand to sit back down on his desk, and unsurprisingly, begins reading his textbook again. How he is able to focus with you in the background, you don’t know, but it must have taken years of practice.

At this point, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You shove yourself off the bed and grab his arms from behind him. His roller chair scoots a few inches before he stops it.

“You’re not exactly making great case for yourself here”

“Stop making excuses!”

You aim straight towards the armpits, and you’re confused at the lack of reaction, so you reach over to squeeze his knee. Almost immediately, he crumples over, almost falling off the chair.

“Can you-” he says mid laugh, “please” he gasps, “Stop that!”

You respond by attacking his other knee, and it’s over. He falls off his chair and you go down with him. The difference is that he recovers quickly, and starts tickling you back in revenge.

You’re sensitive, so it feels like you’re dying. You try to use his arm as leverage to push yourself up, but next thing you know he’s toppeling over you. You close your eyes and wait for your head to kiss the cold hard floor but it never comes, because Mark's hand cradles your head, breaking the fall.

When you open your eyes, he’s closer than ever before, noses touching. Lips a mere centimetres away and in a weird embrace, you resist the urge to close the distance.

Mark has always been good looking, especially now, so close to you. You don’t know why you’ve never noticed it before.

When he pulls away he’s flustered, and for the first time, so are you.

It’s an awkward silence, with you still on the floor as he stands up, rubbing the dusk from his knees. He scratches the back of his head and offers you a hand

“Let’s head out,” he says.

“Yeah, let’s.” you echo.

…

Although Haechan berates you for being more than a little late to the party, he’s overjoyed that you somehow managed to show up with Mark. Not that he didn’t have faith in you anyways, he tells you. It’s just that Mark is married to his Biology textbook, and she runs a tight ship. By the time you reached the frat with Mark, you’ve sobered up enough to enjoy yourself normally,

It’s when you wake up in the morning, that you’re not okay. It’s not okay, because you dreamt of Mark, and that’s weird, because you and Mark were just friends, right? And you always will be.

It’s not a big deal because friends dream of friends. Dreams are a product of your own desires environment, you tell yourself, it’s perfectly normal because you spend so much time with him.

What is not normal, is when you see Mark the following Monday, and are worried about it. You’re nervous the whole time, and it gets worse when you slide the little watermelon filled tupperware container across the table in apology for last Friday. He likes his watermelon cut up into little cubes, you remembered (why do you remember?), and you avoid his eyes, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your face.

Mark, oblivious as usual, doesn’t really notice anything until 10 minutes in, as if your lack of rambling surprises him. Munching on the cubes, he asks if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I am.”

No you are not. You are utterly fucked.

…

“But you need to promise me you won’t judge or make fun of me for it”

“Just say it already, Jesus.”

“It’s just so embarrassing.”

“Oh my god, are you in love with me?”

“No!”

When placing your hands in your face, Haechan grants mercy on you, patting you on the back instead of teasing you further.

“I don’t know what else could be so important that you need to talk to me in person. Unless…. it’s about Mark?”

His hands stop soothingly rubbing your back and instead starts slapping it, waiting for you to laugh along with him. When he doesn’t get a response he gasps. Turning his head sideways to face you, he pries your fingers apart.

“No fucking way.”

“Right?” you moan.

“I was just joking, but I can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Like, you’ve known each other forever. You spend a lot of time together too. Someone was bound to catch feelings eventually.”

You don’t respond, instead choosing to sulk.

“You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it because you’re the loser in this situation.”

Right he is, because you’ve been avoiding Mark for the past few weeks like the plague. You’ve told him that you’ve been busy with your final term paper (you’re not, you’re an engineering major why would you have one?), and although he was a little confused, he was probably also a little thankful because the MCAT was only a month away.

As you tell him about your plight, Haechan listens thoughtfully, “mhming” and “ahh-ing” at all the right places.

“I don’t see how ignoring him helps you at all. I would say to just talk to him about it, but it’s Mark, he probably hasn’t thought about you that way at all.”

“Thanks,” you grumble. “So I’m basically one of the boys.”

“No really, mans might as well be the anemone from Nemo, I’ve never seen him interested in anyone.” Haechan sighs. “This is a tough one.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, but I might have to get creative.”

“I’d like to see you try Hyuck.”

…

It’s 9pm Sunday night, and there’s a knock on your door. It’s strange you think, because it’s a Sunday, and it’s a little late to be doing anything.

When you open the door, there he is, Mark Lee in all his 5’9’ glory, with a little bag in hand, in it your favorite milk tea.

“It’s Sunday.” you say, intelligently.

Mark just chuckles. “Yes it is, and your point?”

You step aside so he can walk in, and you’re embarrassed at your current state. For once, you’ve finished your assignments early, so you’ve spent the past four hours in your pajamas watching K-dramas and snacking on honey chips. You must look like a bum.

Mark on the other hand, always looks good, even in some old dress slacks, and an old t-shirt with some holes in it. He smells faintly of antiseptic, so he must have just come from a volunteering shift at the hospital.

“It’s nice of you to drop by,” you poke the straw into the bubble tea. “And thank you for the bubble tea.”

“You’ve been busy recently so I figured you’d need it for the caffeine content, but it’s not like you sleep anyway.” he jokes. “How’s the term paper going?”

“The term paper? Oh right, the term paper. It’s alright,” you lie. “Just a couple of pages left. Beats having to take the MCAT though.”

Mark looks tired, with his hair slightly overgrown and his dark circles hallower than usual. You feel bad—he has a habit of overworking himself; you’re usually there to check on him but lately you haven’t, and he’s kind and thoughtfull enough to bring you something because he thinks you’re stressed.

“Yeah tell me about it,” Mark takes a seat next to you on your bed, head hitting the wall with a soft thump. “It’s going to be all over next week though, I can’t wait. I’ve missed you though.”

Busy silently cursing at yourself for the way your heart flutters at his admission, you forget to respond. Mark frowns, places his hand on your thigh in an attempt to soothe you, and it has the opposite effect—you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

“Is something wrong?”

“N-no.” you stammer. “Just stressed. ”

Mark makes things worse by leaning in closer, gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead. “You’re kinda hot.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, like I think you may be running a fever.”

He hops off the bed, and rummages around in his little black bag, and pulls out a thermometer. He places a little sleeve on the end, and motions for you to open your mouth. When it beeps, he takes it out of your mouth and looks at the result.

“Your temperature is fine, but you should rest. I’ll see you soon okay?” He pats your head. “Take it easy, I know you’ll do great.”

…

You might not have a term paper, but what you do have is a physics final.

The desk area is littered with eraser dust, crumpled paper, and half filled styrofoam cups of coffee that have since gotten stale. You swear to god that Physics was a subject meant to torture, not enrich the lives of college students. At this rate, you were seriously debating dropping out to become a stripper.

Haechan, not sensing your dismay, disrupts your plans to drop out by telling you something that puts a damper on the rest of your day, as if Physics wasn’t doing that already.

“Have you noticed that Mark’s been hanging out a lot with that one girl lately? What’s her name? So-bin, Yee-ben, Ben 10, ”

“Yebin,” you snap. “And don’t ever disrespect Ben 10 like that again. ”

Haechan lifts his hands up, “ I agree she’s a total bitch, but man is she hot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better, not worse?”

Haechan’s face softens and for once in his life, looks a little sorry. “All I’m saying is if you don’t do something soon, someone might do it for you. I overheard her saying something about her and Mark going to spring fling together.”

He’s not wrong, but Mark, at Spring fling? At a Darty? Willingly? His idea of a good time was studying.

“You’re kidding,” you scoff. “As if he’d be caught dead at something like that.”

“I don’t know (y/n). He doesn’t really have much else to do now that the MCAT is over.”

Right, the MCAT. He took it last week. You mentally slap yourself for not asking how it went.

“Speak of the devil.” Haechan says quietly, motioning behind you.

There she is through the glass, Yebin, pulling a seat next to Mark, not before sneaking up behind him and planting a fat kiss right on his cheek.

…

Maybe if this were a movie, you’d cry all weekend and he’d make it up to you; But this is real life, so you secretly cry for a week and sulk for the rest of the month, blaming your puffy eyes on seasonal allergies (In real life, Mark can’t make it up to you because he did nothing wrong. He’s also not even aware that you like him, but that’s besides the point).

Despite Haechan’s attempt to convince you that it could’ve been just a friendly kiss, a greeting kiss, a whatever kiss, you insist that you’re done with your little crush, that it had shriveled up and died. Although not so convinced, Haechan drops the subject all together and instead resorts to comforting you in his own way, which mainly just consists of making fun of you about other things.

Mark is a touchy subject, and you’re still avoiding him. Why? You don’t really know. You know it’s not fair to Mark, who is probably very hurt and confused at your lack of communication. Nonetheless, he doesn’t question it, and is so infuriatingly mature with his emotions that you suspect that he even respects it, because he stops texting you after a while.

You feel bad about stonewalling him, leaving him in the dark, but really, what would you say to him?

“Sorry-I-haven’t-been-talking-to-you-it’s-just-that-I’m-in-love-with-you-and-I’m-butthurt-that-you-have-a-girlfriend-of-course-it’s-not-really-your-fault-but-”

You shudder at the thought, because it’s just plain embarrassing.

But really, you’re not the best at expressing your emotions—you’ve never been. Frankly, you’re tired of expressing your emotions because it never got you anywhere. Not with your mom, not with your dad, and definitely not with Yuta, who you dated for a year and half a year just to dump you like you were nothing.

It’s not worth it, to put your emotions on the line for anyone, not anymore. You locked your heart away a long time ago, and you were a fool to let it come out last time, and you like to think you learn from your mistakes.

At least, that’s what you think, until you return home one Sunday night from the library and see a little cup of your favorite milk tea at the door, with a straw neatly balanced on the top.

…

When spring fling rolls around, you still haven’t spoken to Mark, and if your friends catch on, they don't mention it. They know by now that you prefer to deal with things alone, to digest them for what they are and then promptly moving on—you know, like processing a death.

It doesn’t really matter, you think. You and Mark have always been friends, and will always be friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And when you get over yourself, things will be fine.

But really, how can it be fine when your whole world stops every time Mark looks at you?

You try not to dwell on it, even now weeks later. You’re busy getting ready to go out, blotting your lipstick on some tissue paper in your friend Yuna’s bathroom.

“(y/n), you look amazing.”

When you turn to look at yourself in the mirror she’s right; The mascara you put on your lashes really brings out the color of your eyes, and your skin (thanks to Yuna’s highlighter compact) is literally glowing. You feel really pretty.

You turn to smile at her. “Thanks to you.” you tell her, and she gets bashful, pushing you out of the seat and ushering you out the door. You make it down stairs no problem, but she calls you as soon as you walk out the door.

“Yes, I have blotting papers with me, and no, I am not dating Haechan I’ve told you thousands of times-”

“What about me?”

You turn around to find Haechan leaning against the dormitory wall, already waiting.

Embarrassed, you tell her you need to go and hang up the phone.

“How long have you been standing here? Hopefully not too long.” You apologize, but he assures you it’s all right.

“Are you sure your friends are fine with you leaving them early to go with me?”

“Yes Haechan, they’re just happy that I have someone to go with.” you sigh. “Almost too happy.”

He laughs, after looking at you, he pauses. “You look nice.”

“You do too, Hyuck.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he seems embarrassed at your compliment.

When you walk into the venue, you’re not surprised at how spacious it is. You’re used to your school going all out, from the kale salads and now, spring fling. They might as well call it spring semi-formal, because everyone is dressed their best.

You see Johnny at the end of the punch table, and he waves, motioning for you two to join him.

“And my favorite couple,” he greets you two, and you almost smack him upside down the head.

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” and he leans in for a hug. “How are you (y/n), I haven’t seen you in a second.”

“I’m good, just been super busy. You were so right, Professor Kim has been really keeping me on my toes in Physics 430,” you laugh. “Every time I walk into the classroom I can feel my life flash through my very eyes.”

He laughs, and you all laugh with him. Johnny tends to have that kind of effect on people.

“How’s Mark?” he asks, and you cringe. “It’s been a while.”

You laugh nervously “ I haven’t seen him in a while either.”

“Oh really. Don’t you see each other every week?”

“Well we used to,” you panic. “Just not anymore because, you know, I-”

“Because you’ve been so busy,” Haechan finishes.

Johnny gives you two a strange look but continues talking anyway.

“Well that’s life. Poor boy’s been studying for the MCAT like his rent is due tomorrow.”

“More like everyday.” Haechan snickers.

Johnny doesn’t hesitate to flame Haechan for his insolence, and begins teasing him for almost failing Calc II (Calc II was kind of hard you admit but that is an admission that will die with you), meanwhile, you’re whisked away by Yuna and her entourage. You glance at Johnny and Haechan, who bid you farewell with a nod of their heads.

It’s fun, you’re having a great time dancing, and eating mini hot dogs on a toothpick (you guess your university had to cut corners somewhere). When Roxanne plays, you and Yuna go wild, nearly knocking over a waiter over with a silver tray. You have so much fun, that you forget that Mark Lee exists until you make eye contact across the floor.

It's no surprise that he’s with Yebin, who looks annoyingly prettier than usual, with her makeup all done and satin dress. She’s pulling him in the opposite direction, but Mark seems to pay no mind, instead staying in place, looking at you. A moment passes, and you see him excusing himself. When he begins to head your direction. You panic.

Before you can even react, you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. When you finally turn to see who it is, you’re nose to nose with none other than Haechan.

“What are you doing?”

“Just go along with it,” Haechan whispers through his teeth. Your hands are pressed against his chest, and he grabs one of your arms, placing it around his neck.

“Go along with what? Have you lost your mind-”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips press against yours and your mind goes blank. He tastes like peppermint and aftershave, with his lips soft in the center and just a little chapped around the edges.

When you two finally part, Mark is nowhere to be found, and you don’t know how to feel.

“Haechan I-” you stammer. “I need to go.”

You hurry off, and he doesn’t follow you.

…

When you’re outside, it’s cold; the air is brisk and definitely doesn’t help steady your breathing, it only makes it harder. It’s a lot to process, Mark, Yebin, Haechan. It’s a lot, and you feel like you’re in emotional overdrive, with all the feelings you’ve been trying to keep in for the past few months coming back to bite you.

You sit down at the edge of the fountain outside the venue, and you nearly get soaked. It misses you by mere inches, with the ceramic fish looking at you almost mockingly. You don’t care, with all the thoughts running through your head right now, you think you might go insane.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there at the fountain when you feel something wrap around you, warm like it was just taken out of the dryer. It smells familiar, like cologne and faintly of antiseptic—it smells like Mark.

You don’t look at him when he sits down next to you, legs open, hands crossed. And he doesn’t look at you. It’s radio silent.

“So you and Haechan, huh.”

“So you and Yebin.” you echo.

Mark looks at you for the first time, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh that.” He shuffles awkwardly. “I don’t really like her like that.”

Your head raises in surprise, and you face each other for the first time in months.

“I thought you guys had a thing.”

Mark scratches the back of his head. “Well we do, but it’s just in her head” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. “She came onto me last week, so I finally set things straight.” Noticing your reaction, he just shakes his head.

“I don’t think it worked though,” he adds.

“I would think, you’ve always been too nice for your own good.”

“I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?” he murmurs. “I feel terrible.”

“You’re not a terrible person just because you don’t like someone back.”

“Maybe not, but I believe not wanting you and Haechan to be together does.”

It takes a moment for his words to register within you, and even after you process them, you’re not sure what to say.

“We don’t like each other like that.” you interrupt him.

Mark looks visibly confused. “Then you and Haechan aren’t??” his voice falters.

“No more than you and Yebin. I promise you it’s not what it seems like.” you tell him and it finally clicks. You’d have to thank the idiot later. Right after you slap him.

Mark doesn’t question it, not even when you start crying. You don’t question it either, unsure of why you’re crying.

“You’re so stupid,” you sniffle. “I’ve liked you for so fucking long.”

Mark pulls out his pocket square to gently wipe the tears from your face, and places his hand on top of yours.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? You could have just said something.” his says softly

“I didn’t want to ruin anything. We’ve always just been friends.”

“I think we’ve always been just more than that.” he says, leaning in, hands cup your face gently.

“Just took some of us a little longer to realize.”

....

“That was very nice of you,” Johnny says.

“Yeah. Very nice.” Haechan echos.

“How long has it been, that you’ve liked her for? Three years?”

“Two going on three.”

Johnny lets out a low whistle, and looks down at the younger boy worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Haechan glances at you and Mark through the glass, outside the venue. With Mark whispering in your ear and you laughing, you seem so happy; happier than you’ve ever been with him.

“Yeah, I am. More than okay.”

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timextoxhajima · 3 years

Text

Grounded: Level 2

Level 1 | Level 3

Member: Minho (Lee Know)

Genre: idol minho x idol trainee reader, angst cause is it a dana fic if there is no angst

Taglist: @licorice526 @jaehyvnsvalentine @lolwhatameme @felixn-recs

[D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7]

There is an earth-shattering kind of pain in your chest when the staff pushes the door open into the dressing room, and your eyes are frantic to search for the one person you cared about.

The crowds force you into the spaces between their backs, legs and bodies uncomfortably, bright fluorescent lights blinding you every time you tilt your head upwards.

All you could think of was the tears that would be flowing down his face, the sheer amount of relief he’s drowning in when JYP said he would debut Stray Kids as nine.

His parent’s voice echoes through the crevices of your skull, the words repeating themselves over and over and over again.

“Minho made it.”

Your nose sours against its will, wanting nothing but to throw your arms around him and congratulate him for the one thing he had wanted for so long.

A tap comes on your shoulders and you turn to see a swollen-faced Lee Minho grinning widely at you, his parents standing proudly behind him. The muscles in your face finally give into your overwhelming feelings, for there is nothing in the world you would exchange this look of bliss and happiness on his face for.

Minho pulls you into the hug before you can respond to him, his palm flat against the back of your head as you sob your eyes out on his shoulder.

“Why do you always cry when I’m not?”

Annoyed at his cold words (though you know he’s just teasing you), he receives a slap in his chest as you pull away. “That’s cause you’ve already exhausted all your damn tears on stage, right?”

Minho sniffles, unable to stop that grin from surfacing on his lips. But your heart stops in its ribcage, unsafe from all the feelings that were diffusing through his body and into yours.

[J U N E 2 0 1 8]

Where are you when I need you?

The last beat of NCT U’s The 7th Sense drops, and so does your butt to the wooden floorboard.

Of course this mental cry for help goes unheard. The loneliness was starting to eat away at your skin, like goosebumps in the cold weather and that horrid feeling of being lost with nowhere to go.

The silence of the dance studio was on the verge of deafening you, and your reflection in the mirror looks like someone you never expected to see. You’ve lost the concept of time, because the studio is sealed. No windows, and the only way in or out is the door, and even then the nearest window was down the corridor. There’s virtually no way to tell how long you’ve been in here unless you’ve been staring at your phone.

The other female trainees had left a few hours before, and though they did offer to bring food back for you before returning to their dorms, you know it would only hinder your progress. Stopping now will ruin your momentum.

Knock knock

Your legs have long given up on you, so you could only pray that whoever comes in could read the lack of energy in your eyes when you look up.

“I’m starting to get sick of that track because of you.”

A gasp leaves your lungs as you scrambled to your feet, nearly falling over because that’s how jelly they felt. “Yeonjun!”

The tall, brown haired boy had eyebags that could carry an elephant - it was a normal sight to see nowadays, and in his hand was a plastic bag which you could immediately tell was food. The scent of that hot soup was too recognisable.

“It’s fine, sit down,” The grin on his face pulls his cheeks apart as he gently shuts the door behind him. “How long have you been here?”

Yeonjun goes to the sound system and changes the music to something else besides your practise playlist before coming over to you, gesturing you to sit.

“I walked in at 7am.”

Yeonjun freezes for some moments, eyes looking down at you with his shoulder blocking the ceiling light from your eyes. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Do I want to know what time it is?” Squinting your eyes as he shifts to sit down opposite you, the light finally getting through and interrupting your vision for a split second.

Yeonjun pulls out a disposable bowl of soup and a box of sandwiches, a chicken salad and-- honey-glazed apples.

“I’m on a no-sugar diet--”

“And you’re still on your probationary contract, not even the idol one and yet you’re spending fifteen hours in the studio?”

The revelation catches you off guard. Your last meal was a chicken salad that one of the female trainees had gotten you -- that was dinner four hours ago?

“Here,” He shoves the food across the space between you. Now, the smell was stinking up the whole studio, but you didn’t mind it one bit. Not when it’s conjuring all these weird noises from your stomach. “You’re obligated to finish at least the soup and fried chicken. I know you’re on a chicken salad diet so you can forget about that if you don’t like it.”

“Bullshit,” There was no hesitation to claim the food on the floor he’s presented to you. “I could eat a cow right now.”

“I guessed.”

Yeonjun helps open the containers, forcing the scent to waft through the stale, slightly-sweat-smelling air and through your nostrils. Your joints are on the verge of falling apart but letting yourself come apart would mean resignation.

“Were you on the way back?” You ask right before you slurp up the soup, Yeonjun picks at some of the fries that were in the same bag as the fried chicken.

“Nah, I came from the night market.”

“Oh,” The memory of honey-glazed apples flashes through your mind for a split second. A fleeting moment; too fast to process or delve into the feelings involved. “What are you working on tonight?”

“Rapping. I have an evaluation tomorrow.”

“Haven’t you been getting first for those? And shouldn’t you be resting instead of pushing yourself over the top?”

Yeonjun raises a brow at you. “For someone who’s spent God-knows-how-long in this studio, you sure have a lot of things to say.”

A bite of the honey-glazed apple melts in your mouth.

“Anyway, when’s your first monthly evaluation - or are they only going to make you do it if you sign an idol contract?”

“Probably only after I sign the idol contract.”

Yeonjun hums in response, helping you rip open the boxes of sandwiches.

“So,” He starts again after a while. “Are you going to sign it when they ask you to?”

The thought was already intimidating in your head, and Yeonjun putting it into a proper sentence only made it worse.

“Bold of you to assume they will ask me to sign an idol contract.”

“Bold of you to assume BigHit wouldn’t use you as a source of income.”

A low chuckle escapes your throat as you finish one of the honey-glazed apples.

“Seriously though,” He places down the box of sandwiches and leans back on his hands, legs stretching out and eyes landing on yours. “What are you going to do when the idol contract’s on a desk before you? You’ve been on probationary training for what? Six months now? You would’ve wasted all your time and sweat if you don’t sign that contract.”

“But do I want to remain in public scrutiny for the rest of my life though?”

“Was that what you were worried about when you first joined? Was that what went through your head when Minho joined JYP?”

The name jolts you into an uncomfortable zone. You haven’t seen him since he debuted - because that’s how busy he was. It’s like he’s got no life outside that building and in cars that bring them back and forth entertainment buildings looking pretty for a bunch of fangirls. It’s like you’ve been left alone to deal with this trainee life on your own but you don’t have a single strand of hair on you that blames Minho for the situation you are in.

You encouraged him to go for it; he encouraged you to audition for BigHit and you signed that probationary training contract. You were sitting in a pool of your own decisions, but why does it feel like you’re sitting in a pool of sad tears?

“It was Minho’s choice to sign that contract and get to where he is now, you know that, don’t you? It’ll be the same for you. It’s your life, your choice.”

“I know,” You pull the sandwiches to yourself. “I was the one who encouraged him to do it.”

Yeonjun’s silence feels prickly on your skin, mostly because he’s made you feel guilty for something that Minho would’ve probably done otherwise any way. But the boy can probably read you - he’s noticed that you literally stop functioning normally every time he brings up the person who inspired you to continue dancing and be a part of this industry.

He knows better than you try and comfort you, because that would mean he agreed. “You do realise that him becoming a celebrity was his choice and not yours? It’s his responsibility now, the same way it’ll be mine when I debut and the same way it’ll be yours if you choose to do it.”

Shoving the last bite of the sandwich into your mouth, you pray that the chewing is going to prevent the tears from being choked up.

“Why do we choose to do this to ourselves? Work till the sun rises and get barely any sleep... for what? Pretty costumes and flashing lights and no privacy?”

His breathing is a little raspy in the dry, air-conditioned room, so you look up to match his gaze. His eyes were slightly furrowed and thinking - he knows what you mean.

“Because it’s what we want for ourselves. It’s our dream to stand on the stage and perform because we love it. It’s not about the fame or the fortune - well, for some people, maybe but--”

A smile stretches across your lips.

“If you keep thinking of it this way, then this isn’t for you, y/n. I hope you’ll know what’s best for yourself.”

The smile remains on your lips but your gaze feels like its faltering. You can feel yourself zoning out from chicken salad that you’ve eaten over and over again in the last six months.

Does Minho even think about you the way you think about him?

[N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 8]

“y/n!” The jolt awake is surprisingly contained; it doesn’t earn the attention of anybody else in the classroom when Hyunjin shoves you out of your day slumber.

“What do you do in that building to the point where you can’t stay awake?”

“Ugh,” The disgust is shown on your face when you discover a stray line of drool down the corner of your mouth, staining your black and yellow uniform. You wipe it off without much care and wipe it over your blazer before turning to Hyunjin. “It’s called training. I thought you’d know better.”

“And I do,” Hyunjin whispers back without looking at you, eyes plastered to the worksheet on his desk. “But I’m literally knee-deep in Get Cool promotions.”

“Your point being?” Rolling your eyes to yourself, you pick up your pen and begin copying whatever was on the whiteboard - not that they were even relevant.

“My point is: if you’re going to become an idol but you’re going to die throughout schooling while still a trainee, how are you going to survive after you debut?”

“For the record, I’m doing better than you in most our subjects. Despite me sleeping in class.”

Hyunjin mutely snarls at you, baring his teeth like he was a dog. The teacher’s sudden eye contact stuns you, but luckily the school bell comes to your rescue and Hyunjin instantaneously shuts his notebook while rushing you to fasten your steps too.

“Okay, no- I have a serious question for you,” Hyunjin has his hand out in mid-air with the other clutching the strap of his bag as the two of you make your way out of school. SOPA days were relatively short, especially when ten percent of the school’s population were either idols or idol trainees - you included (though you haven’t signed any idol contract).

“Will it warrant a kick in your nuts when you ask it?” Pulling out a bun from your bag, you stop by your locker and hold it in your mouth while unlocking the metal door.

“Maybe,” He admits, leaning against the locker. You can see from the corner of your eyes that there were other students staring at him as he walked by - it was Hwang Hyunjin! Main dancer and visual of the one-year-old group Stray Kids, and if you think public scrutiny only comes in after debut, you couldn’t be any more wrong.

BigHit’s already given you one of those lessons - don’t make your name a household name before you even debut. Unfortunately, your candid friendship with Hyunjin’s stirred up some stuff, and many facts about your life have already been made public.

BigHit trainee, ex-dance crew member for BTS with Lee Know from Stray Kids, one of the 20 girls who received the casting call, BigHit’s first female trainee who passed only through dancing. Just what do these people not know about you?

“How long has it been since you’ve met Lee Know hyung?”

The name strikes a chord in you against your wishes. Your nerves falter for a moment as you shove the textbooks back into your locker, but your system turns back online after some moments.

“Didn’t we agree not to mention his name here? Half the school already knows who I am, I don’t need them to know we actively talk about Minho.”

“No, I just-” Hyunjin watches you dump the last of your notebooks and textbooks in your locker. “I’ve never heard stories about you from Lee Know... all I remembered was you showing up at the finale and then our debut showcase.”

“And that’s the last time I met Minho in person. He’s not a great texter so let’s not have that conversation,” You shut the locker door and side-eye Hyunjin, hoping that he doesn’t pick up the pang of hurt and missing you have for Minho.

But Hwang Hyunjin isn’t emotionally unaware, is he?

“You mean to tell me that you last met Lee Know hyung at our debut showcase?”

Choosing not to engage, you take off in the opposite direction, heading for the exit of the school.

“Hey! Where are you going?!”

“BigHit!” You yell back without turning behind. “Where else?!”

“This conversation’s not over, I’m warning you!”

“Oh, boohoo!”

[D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 8]

The night market is nauseatingly reminiscent, with all the wild flavours wafting about in the air and people crunching on fried Oreos or drooling over some spicy tteokbokki. It feels like you’re back home in your hometown.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t get into trouble for frolicking about in public?” Watching him pay the stall holder for the cheese fries, you cannot help but gleam at his innocent grin on his lips.

“Nah, I’ve asked Soobin if it’s alright.”

“Soobin?” A frown conquers your forehead, for you know that Soobin doesn’t exactly have the greatest power over Yeonjun. “Soobin’s literally the last person who would tell you you can’t do something.”

A cheeky grin surfaces on his lips, but not as much as his eyes whelm with mischief. “Exactly.”

“So, how long more do you have before-”

“My introduction film’s going to be released in Jan.”

A short pause at the realisation of the lack of time you have with Yeonjun before he debuts. The situation stabs you in the spine and forces chills through you - it’s happening all over again.

“If you’re worried about losing time with me, I hope you know that I’ll still try my best to come back to help you with your training if you need it.”

A dry scoff runs off your tongue, the heat from the cheese fries Yeonjun wasn’t even bothering to offer you coming out in puffs as he struggles with the temperature.

“Well, I shall be honored that BigHit’s number one trainee is willing to be my personal coach.”

Yeonjun finally stabs a fry and offers you the stick. “This personal coach is picky with who he wants to help, so be--”

The abrupt stop in his words surprises you, because he’s doing nothing but staring straight ahead of him, at the crowd.

“Yeonjun?” You wave your hand before his eyes. Yeonjun points through the crowd, beckoning you to follow his direction.

It takes you a few seconds to notice what - or who - he’s looking at as the crowd challenges your vision. Then you see a black cap and a black mask that should’ve been adequate to hide his identity - that was the purpose of that disguise anyway.

But never in a million years will you forget those feline, brown orbs.

Minho.

#skz lee know #lee know #lee minho #skz lee minho #skz minho #stray kids #skz #stray kids lee know #skz lee know scenarios #skz scenarios #lee know scenarios

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traincat · 4 years

Note

I’ve read through your entire AO3 catalogue (SO amazing by the way), and now I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing a rec list of your personal favorite spideytorch fics?

First off, thanks for reading my fic! I’m super glad you enjoyed -- there’s more coming! I know I keep saying that but I do mean it! Second off, I am really bad at making reclists generally because I am not an organized person and I always feel like I’m forgetting someone and etc etc. But I figured I should probably do something about that so I did finally bookmark a bunch of my favorite fics on Ao3. (You’ll have to scroll past a bunch of The Untamed fic at the top but after that everything there so far is Spider-Man and Fantastic Four fic.) I’m probably missing some favorites in there because I did those fast, but, it’s a work in progress. And I’m going to endeavor to be better about bookmarking things in the future so there’ll be a semi-organized little functional reclist sitting right there. Also, I blanket rec everything by Gleesquid and OneShinyApple. They’re both terrific.

That being said, some of my Spideytorch favorites:

A Melody That's Calling Your Name by gleesquid (rated T)

When a boy gets trapped in the Baxter Building fire, Peter must make a quick choice: let the boy die terrified in the flames or gain his trust by showing him what's underneath his mask. In the end, it's no choice at all.

But when that same boy shows up on the first day of senior year, Peter finds himself caught in a spiraling lie. The next thing he knows, he's got a boyfriend, he's starring in a musical, he's going to rich kids' costume parties, and he's realizing that maybe there are worse things than having someone know your biggest secret.

You'd think high school couldn't get any weirder than a radioactive spider bite, but that's just the Parker Luck.

Between the Smoke and Ruins by gleesquid (rated T)

The Fantastic Four: Heroes. Villains. Gods. Ghosts.

Oh, how the mighty do fall.

In which Johnny Storm tries to save his family, Spider-Man tries to save the world, and they might as well save each other along the way.

sweet like honey, don't need money (all i need is you) by gleesquid (unrated)

“I can’t do it anymore. I’m kicking you out."

“That’s too bad, Johnny,” Peter said. “But I guess I’ll still see you out in the field."

“Both of you,” said Sue. “Until you learn to behave yourselves in shared living quarters, you’re not living here anymore.”

you light my morning sky by gleesquid (rated T)

“I dunno, maybe the huge flaming words in the sky that said, ‘MEET ME AT THE USUAL PLACE. IT’S URGENT.’ In my ever so humble opinion, ‘urgent’ usually means fire, or ‘all my super powered teammates have been kidnapped,’ or ‘the stock market’s about to crash so you better buy bread now.’ Not ‘I ran outta hairspray.’”

Johnny touched a hand to his hair – which, admittedly, felt a bit stiff. “You think I used too much?”

“I’m a real fan of Elvis, honest.” Spidey ruffled Johnny’s hair. Johnny could feel his flame curling in his stomach, his toes, and every inch that Spidey’s gloved hand touched. “But you might not wanna take styling tips from him.”

Or: The year is 1966, and Johnny Storm loves hairspray and Spider-Man a little too much.

The World, reversed by Euphorion (rated T)

Julia leaned forward and plucked the card she’d given him from his hand like she was cheating at Go Fish, holding it up so he could see the figure. “The Fool,” she said. “They’re like—the protagonist of the Tarot, or, conversely, maybe its subject. All the other cards—the minor and major arcana—are ways they feel about things, or things that happen to them, or people who they meets along the way who change them.” Her finger tapped the card, indicating the figure’s raised, bell-adorned foot, and the cliff beyond. “The Fool is the beginning of the personal journey. See? One more step takes them over the edge.”

“Huh,” said Peter. “Good thing Johnny can fly.”

Built To Fall Apart (and Back Together) by oneshinyapple (rated E)

The day after Johnny kissed him on top of the Statue of Liberty, Spider-Man disappeared. One year later, multimillionaire-in-the-making Peter Parker launches a company with his best friend, Harry Osborn. The last thing he needs is a complication like Johnny. But what was meant to be a one-night stand quickly spirals into something else, and everything is further turned upside-down when mysterious portals to another universe appear and they learn that there are two constants in the life of Johnny Storm: Peter Parker, and being left behind.

the things that you want (are so hard to find) by oneshinyapple (rated E)

“No, trust me, you don’t want to die by anaconda the way they do it in the movies, Johnny. It would be terrible.”

“It’s gotta be better than being eaten by a shark.” He pointed at the TV. “Look at them screaming in pain!”

“You wouldn’t actually feel anything. The brain tends to shut out pain in the face of—”

“Oh, God. No. Don’t science it.”

In Love At a Coffee Shop by oneshinyapple (rated T)

Teen pop sensation Johnny Storm stumbles into a coffee shop while escaping from a horde of fans. Who else should save him but Peter Parker, grumpy barista extraordinaire?

Any caffeine addict would probably be just a little bit in love with their coffee dealer, and baristas were just automatically hotter when they were drizzling caramel all over someone’s whipped cream.

picture this by lowfuellight (rated M)

Peter sighed heavily. The young boy of about ten standing beside him didn’t look up from his handheld device. “It’s a child, Torch,” said Peter. “You’ve seen children before.”

Bring That Summer by pommenade (rated T)

Juggling the duties of Spider-Man as well as his life as CEO of Parker Industries was easy. Peter Parker had years of practice. Add in a clandestine relationship with Johnny Storm and things got a bit more complicated. Add in Johnny's Instagram account, and suddenly Peter's life is impossible.

Better in Picture by weekend_conspiracy_theorist (rated T)

In which Peter Parker has no interest in sleeping with Matt Murdock, no matter what anyone seems to think.

all of these thousand miles by hippolytas (rated T)

One year after the Fantastic Four have disappeared: where are they now?

No one really has a clue, and Johnny seems to be the only one still searching for answers. When the universe (or someone with control over it) starts sending him signals, Johnny decides that it's time to go looking. Peter's just coming along to make sure he survives the experience. It all goes about as well as can be expected.

#spideytorch #losers who deserve each other #fic recs #*replies

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rebeccahpedersen · 7 years

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Buying A Former Marijuana Grow-Op As Your Primary Residence

TorontoRealtyBlog

Just the subject line alone will conjure up images in your head; the possibilities are endless.

Maybe you’re picturing yellow police tape surrounding the home, or a biker gang being arrested and led out the front door of the home.

But what if I told you that inside a “former marijuana grow-op” was family who had been living there for 13 years with no issues?

Then would you consider buying a former marijuana grow-op as your primary residence?

It’s a tough market out there, folks.

I probably don’t need to say that, again, because it’s getting pretty old at this point.

Most of my recent blogs, and my Pick5 videos, are about how tough the market is. I think you get it, by now.

And yet despite how tough the market is, every once in a while, I still get a naive, hopeful, albeit clueless buyer out there that says something to the effect of, “We’re not, like, really serious right now, but if an absolutely unbelievable deal comes along, let us know, and we’d be willing to take a look.”

No problem. You’re the first person I’ll call…

There are no absolutely, unbelievable deals out there.

And even if there were, you’re not going to find them by being passive.

“Deals” in this market are next to impossible to find.

They’re like……well, I guess you could say they’re like teams being down 28-3 in the Superbowl, and coming back to win 34-28 in overtime.

And when you do find a deal, you have to make absolutely certain that the thing that looks too good to be true, isn’t.

I’ve been working with my oldest friend in the world in the past three months to find him, his wife, and his son, a house.

I’ve known Duncan since he was 3-years-old. He was actually my brother’s friend growing up, but since I was incapable of making friends of my own, I basically stole all my brothers’ when we were in our early 20’s.

Duncan and his wife Amanda live in a semi-detached bungalow in Mississauga, and have one child, but there’s one more on the way!

Their house was originally a 3-bedroom, but as is the case with those silly condo townhouses on the south side of Sudbury Street in King West, the three bedrooms are like closets, and many people open up the wall between the two 8×8 jail cells to create a functional “master bedroom.”

So with a second child on the way, Duncan and Amanda began the search for something larger last fall.

Their house is worth about $650,000, but their budget to find something larger is only $800,000. That’s not a lateral move, but it’s not a massive move up either. We had a tall order right from the get-go.

For those of you that know Mississauga, you know that the housing stock is very different from that in Toronto.

There are a ton of backsplit and sidesplit houses, which are all unique in their own way. Some work, some don’t. Some have great layouts, and some are just confusing as hell.

Have you ever been in a backsplit that just keeps going, and going, and going?

You go down to the basement, and find another level below it, and you’re shocked. But then you find another level below that one!

These backsplits and sidesplits come in both detached and semi-detached form, and of course, the price is higher for the former.

I told Duncan and Amanda right from the start that my goal was to find them a detached bungalow on huge lot – a 50-footer! They would gain the extra bedroom and the space they needed today, while having an unbelievable opportunity to build a mansion, or sell to a developer, in 15 years when these 50-foot lots are getting their due.

We cast the net wide. Really wide!

From Dixie Road to Winston Churchill, and from the 403 right down to the water.

Looking in Mississauaga always seems to end up that way, and it’s so different from Toronto.

In Toronto, I find most people have a small geographic area in which they want to search. They might go outside that area, but barely.

Few people say to me, “I’ll live in Bloor West Village, but also in The Beaches, and basically anywhere in between.”

But when it comes to Mississauga, I find my buyers will live just about anywhere.

We started to look in early November last year, with the knowledge that we probably wouldn’t find something in 2016, since the market was drawing to a close rather quickly.

Amanda was on fire with the new listings, emailing me 4-5 per day, and keeping on top of what was selling.

There was that one house that sold in the fall, that we looked back on in the spring, and said, “Oh that would have been perfect.” A lot of buyers feel that way after they get discouraged in a market, and look back to when they started. There’s always that one house that they “would have, could have, should have” bought, but they weren’t ready.

As a lot of buyers out there are finding so far in 2017, it seems as though the market went up 5% as soon as the calendar turned from December to January.

Duncan and Amanda felt this right away, and as the 2017 market wore on, it got worse.

We spun our wheels with a lot of semi-detached backsplits, and although I kept trying to convince them that the space – and all those levels, were great value, we never found one with the right “flow.”

We watched as houses we didn’t like at all routinely sold for $780,000, $790,000, or some of them even over $800,000, which was our max. It was really tough to see houses that we wanted to pass on sell for more than we could afford. At times, it felt like the search was pointless.

We ventured west of Winston Churchill a couple of times, and found ourselves in Oakville.

“Wanna live in Oakville, Duncan?” I asked as we stood outside this one house – a “link,” where the house looks detached, but actually shares a foundation with the houses on both sides. The house checked all the boxes from the outside, but once we were inside, it actually felt like a downgrade from their semi-detached bungalow!

Duncan and Amanda have a massive finished basement, with a guest bedroom, and a family or rec-room that’s perfect for watching epic 25-point comebacks in Superbowls…

And yet every time we saw a basement in a sought-after “detached” on a 25-foot lot, the basements were tiny, often less than half the size of what Duncan and Amanda already had.

We bid on a few houses, never really getting close.

We got absolutely blown out on one – losing by over $100,000. That’s never fun.

I looked back to my original idea of a detached bungalow on a 50-foot lot, and felt irresponsible for even suggesting it.

These were going well past $850,000 now, and into the $900’s.

The ugly backsplits that we didn’t like were pushing past $800,000 as well.

Through the whole month of January, we only found one house we liked, and that was the one we bid on, and lost by $100,000.

Then last week, I was looking on MLS and saw a house in our price range – $800,000 even. A very odd price, since most people price at $799,900.

This house had been on the market for 14 days, though, which I thought was odd. Why didn’t I see it?

Then I saw the “PC” and realized this had a price change. But when, why, how?

This looked like a $950,000 house!

A 2-storey, detached, on a 50 x 120 foot lot, with a goddam pool in the backyard!

It didn’t make sense.

I figured maybe they were out at $979,900 or something, and the “PC” was them dropping the price to $800,000, to try to set an offer night and solicit multiple bids. I hate when agents do that, as though the market was asleep, and/or born yesterday, and were unable to do a history on the listing.

But as it turned out, this wasn’t the case.

The property was actually reduced in price from $850,000.

And the listing even said, “Offers any time.”

I couldn’t figure it out.

$800,000? For this house?

What was I missing?

Well, folks, at the risk of milking this too long, and since you already read the subject line for today’s blog, I’ll tell you the obvious: this was a former marijuana grow-op.

There was a small note in the broker’s remarks that said, As Per 2003 Listing “Former Grow House.”

Well, then!

That explained a lot.

In fact, that explained just about everything!

No buyer out there looking for a place to raise their family is going to purchase a former grow-op.

And even if they wanted to, not a single lender in the province would advance a dollar.

But I was intrigued by this, and even though I don’t make it a habit of chasing unicorns, I decided to spin my wheels a bit.

I asked our in-house legal council at Bosley, one of our managers, and my mortgage broker, and their responses ranged from, “You’re wasting your time,” to “You already know the answer to this,” to “Have you ever successfully got your hands on a unicorn?”

I probably should have quit there.

But I ran the history of the property, and this house sold in June of 2002, closed in August of 2002, and was then sold again under power of sale by a bank in October of 2003, having been listed in September.

There were only thirteen months in between the closing of the house by the alleged grower, and the listing by the bank.

And you can assume that it took a few months for the bank to foreclose, and this would be after an investigation.

So perhaps the “growing” stopped in, maybe, May or June of 2003?

And how long did it take for the growers to set up? A few months?

Maybe they didn’t start growing until, say, November of 2002?

So all told, we have maybe 4-6 months of growing here, absolute, max.

That was hardly a full-scale “grow op.”

I noticed in both the 2002 and the 2003 listings that the basement was unfinished, and yet in the 2017 listing, the basement was fully finished, and the notes said, “Home Fully Renovated By Current Owners.”

The grow-op could have taken place anywhere in the house, but it was more than likely the unfinished basement.

And if the basement was now finished, it meant the current owners did a lot of remedial work back in 2003.

In the photos of the property, you could clearly see children’s bedrooms.

Now call me naive, but what kind of parent would raise two children, for 13 years, in a house that was infested with mold from a marijuana grow-op?

At the risk of chasing a unicorn, I started to think that perhaps this house was stigmatized, but in practice, there as nothing wrong with it.

I told Duncan and Amanda about it, and after a handful of jokes directed at themselves, me, and the house, we decided to go take a look.

The listing came out at $800,000 mid-day, and by 6pm, Duncan and I were in the house for a look.

It was perfect.

Beyond perfect – it was way out of our league.

A 50 x 120 foot lot. A detached house. A 2-storey, 3-bed, 3-bath.

It blew away everything else we’d seen to this point.

Duncan and I called Amanda from the car, and said, “This house is perfect, we want to make an offer.”

She more or less said, “So you two geniuses went to see a former marijuana grow-op, and you want to make an offer, without me even having seen the house?”

We looked at each other and started to nod in agreement. “Yeah, yeah that’s fairly accurate,” we said.

There was dead silence on the phone, and then finally Amanda said, “Alright what the hell,” to our surprise. “Let’s make an offer.”

“Well, if we don’t get the house,” I told Duncan, “I’ll buy you a pound of weed,” I said as we both laughed hysterically.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

The post Buying A Former Marijuana Grow-Op As Your Primary Residence appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

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